


Sylaise's Daughter

by Feynite, Little_Lotte, scurvaliciousbay



Series: Sharp and Shiny [7]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe- Freeform, Looking Glass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25193170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Lotte/pseuds/Little_Lotte, https://archiveofourown.org/users/scurvaliciousbay/pseuds/scurvaliciousbay
Summary: Alright, the explanation for this one gets a little weird, but it's basically a collision of the General Lavellan AU and the Inquisitor Uthvir AU in like...the saddest way possible. >_>;
Relationships: June/Sylaise, OC/OC, Pride/Lavellan, Serahlin/Adannar, Solas/Lavellan, Uthvir/Lavellan
Series: Sharp and Shiny [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/524539
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Found

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [General Lavellan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6529174) by [Feynite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite). 
  * Inspired by [Inquisitor Uthvir](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8466667) by [Feynite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite), [Little_Lotte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Lotte/pseuds/Little_Lotte). 



Something has gone wrong.

The thought is such a gross understatement, that it would be laughable under any other circumstances. But, honestly, Aili doesn’t think she is ever going to feel like laughing again. Or much of anything else, for that matter.

She supposes it is a moot point, if she is dead.

There had been a light, and Solas had all but toss her into it. Still screaming at him in her fury and grief. And something had shattered. She found herself cast far into a vast darkness, twisted and spun about until eventually shooting towards another tiny distant light. Crashing into it and burning from the inside out. 

When she is capable of opening her eyes again, she is lying on her back, looking up through the branches of a large leafy tree. It’s raining, and she is naked. And she cannot seem to move beyond flailing her limbs.

She thinks perhaps it might be some sort of nightmare. To be small and lost in the woods again. Soon the true storm will start, and she will find herself trapped behind a wall of rocks, listening as the sounds of hungry chittering shadows grows louder. Impending death echoing in her ears.

It is an old fear, and a small one, when compared to recent events. But it is a catalyst. The straw that breaks the halla’s back.

She starts crying.

Quietly at first, but then the floodgates open to full blown sobbing. She tries to get a grip on herself, because being helpless and loud in a strange place is never a good combination, but she can’t quite seem to check her sorrow. It has been so long since she saw living trees, or felt the rain on her skin, and it is all so _real_. She has lost everything that ever mattered to her. And she is so alone.

The sounds of footsteps rustle through the underbrush, moving in her direction. She tries to turn so she can see what has found her, or perhaps even manage to claw away, but her limbs are loose and floppy. The most she can manage seems to be rolling half-way onto her side.

A party of elves. Dressed in the sort of resplendent armor she would only expect to see on a chevalier on guard at the Imperial Court of Orlais. Solas and his followers tended to be a bit more subtle in their attire, and she has never seen her own kind in this type of gear.

Well, with one exception.

The thought does nothing to ease her grief. And the sight of other people, all noticeably bigger than she is, does nothing to calm her fears. She cries harder. The strangers begin talking, Elvhen, she thinks, but she cannot be certain she understands the full meaning of what they are saying.

Uthvir had still been teaching her.

“Is that…an infant?” one woman asks the other standing next to her.

“Your powers of observation never cease to amaze me, Sister,” comes the reply. They do indeed look related, though the one who had spoken first is dark and glittering while the second is golden and radiant. Like the day and the night.

“You are always so pleasant to converse with, Sylaise,” the first one drawls back at her, clearly irritated.

“If you wish me to be pleasant, Andruil, perhaps we should have settled on a more refined activity,” Sylaise answers sweetly, “Instead of tromping through the woods to find something for you to stab at.”

“Going soft on me, Sister?” Andruil asks with a feral smile.

“Not soft, simply bored,” Sylaise returns dismissively, walking over to where Aili is sprawled helplessly in the grass. She stiffens in terror, still blubbering, uncertain of what they might do. She does not know much of Sylaise, but what she had heard of Andruil was…not comforting. “If you do not wish for people to find you tedious, perhaps you should seek to broaden your horizons. I can hardly remember a time after the division of the territories that spending time with you did not involve getting dragged out into the wretched wilderness to sate your appetites.”

Sylaise bends down and scoops Aili into her embrace. She is very beautiful. Almost too beautiful, in fact. Like a living statue carved from marble. Lovely, but almost alien. Strange, and somehow cold.

Aili folds her arms across her chest, trying to draw herself away without wriggling. Even the short fall from this woman’s arms to the ground could be potentially devastating for her infant body. Besides, it is not as though she could run away. She blinks up at the woman who had once been her god with wide, damp eyes, and wonders what fate has in store of her now.

Sylaise smiles at her.

“It stopped crying,” Andruil notes, clearly surprised, coming over to stand near her sister. She reaches out a hand, possibly to stroke her hair, possibly to wrench her away. Aili lets out a distressed yelp, turning to press her face into Sylaise’s chest, clutching at her with little pudgy fingers as best she can.

“You frightened her!” Sylaise admonishes with a scowl, moving away from Andruil and back towards the rest of their party.

“The child was distressed long before I had anything to do with her,” Andruil refutes. “Father is going to want whichever one of your people left her out here burned alive.”

“He can have them,” Sylaise answers breezily, venturing gentle fingers to smooth Aili’s curls into some semblance of order. She tuts in disapproval when they immediately bounce back into their previous state of anarchy.

“Who are you going to give her to?” Andruil wonders.

“I am not going to give her to anyone,” Sylaise replies blithely.

“Mother is not going to be pleased with that little piece of news,” her sister tells her, rising her brows in slight surprise.

Sylaise only smiles again, booping Aili lightly on the tip of her nose with a single finger.

“Precisely.”


	2. Family Ties

Sylaise is…an adequate caregiver.

For all it seems like she had adopted a child mainly to annoy her own mother, Aili must admit that all of her most basic needs have certainly been seen to. Usually in the most ostentatious way possible.

Her room is, quite frankly, dazzling. Made up to look like an enchanted forest, everything from her little crib to the rocking chair in the far corner made over into organic shapes of leaves and trees and flowers. A menagerie of soft toys in the shapes of woodland animals, all living under the bright pigment of a painted blue sky. A mobile made to look like a flock of birds, enchanted to flap their wings and change direction at different intervals as they soar past the light fixture which is clearly meant to be the sun. It gets to be a bit much every now and then, though, and Aili pulls one of her blankets up over her head and imagines their big bed at Skyhold, the three of them all tangled up together under the sheets. Trying to find a bit of respite.

Which has caused no small amount of alarm for the attendants assigned to her.

There are still times when she cannot contain her sorrow, and she is frequently plagued by nightmares, but Aili tries to keep such outbursts to a minimum. Usually waiting until she has been put into her crib to sleep, before letting go of…everything. Letting herself feel as weak and helpless as her body has become. Her misery is a palpable force, and she is not convinced that she does a passable job suppressing it, but it must be enough to make her endearing to the people looking after her. 

Sylaise herself does what is probably a fair share of nurturing, considering the scope of her job. She makes certain that she feeds her at least one of her daily meals, and tucks her into bed every night. But, naturally, some of the more menial tasks, such as bath time and nappy changing, tend to get handed to someone else.

There are times when Aili feels a bit more like an accessory than a person, though. She has what seems to be an unending amount of infant wear. In every print and shade that could possibly be conceived. And every time her new mother sees fit to make a public appearance with her, their outfits are seamlessly coordinated. Down to the slightest detail.

The times she is around her new family are when she feels the most on edge. But they mostly seem caught up in troop movements and expanding and developing their city. Arlathan. And the idea of that, that this is still a time when the ancient dream her people had mourned over for centuries is still new and growing, is… a lot to get her head around.

At least her grandparents seem to like her well enough. Elgar’nan based solely on the merits of being a small adorable child, and Mythal because she appears to be well behaved, for the time being. The rest of the evanuris seem mostly indifferent to her, though perhaps Ghilan’nain had shown a spark of curiosity at the mystery surrounding her discovery. None of the others ever make a move to hold her though, and for that, she is grateful.

Aili does not know what to make of June.

She supposes that he is her father now, for all intents and purposes. But he does not seem to involve himself very much with her upbringing. He seems a bit…awkward, if she had to put a name to it. He holds her when Sylaise hands her over to him, and brings her things to play with every now and then, but he mostly seems content to let her be.

She cannot say that she finds it all that disappointing.

His family is another matter, though. She does not see much of Grandpa Haninan, but she likes him. He was one of the few people in her family who had picked her up and held her as though she was a living, breathing child in need of comfort. He had seen her sadness and held her close, and she had found herself crying into his shoulder without even meaning to.

And then there is June’s sister, the General. Who has been out of the city on patrol. General _Lavellan_.

Even in the midst of her grieving, Aili finds herself curious about this other aunt. Is she the ancestor her clan was descended from? Does this mean that she truly is some distant relation of June’s?

Sylaise has something of a little garden party to welcome their wayward family member home. Aili is set up on a large blanket in the sun with several toys at her disposal, and then more or less left to her own devices. Which, while it would be potentially hazardous for any other baby, she finds herself more than content with.

“She is such a strange little thing,” she hears Sylaise tell someone, “She started crying the other day when I tried to show her how pretty she looked in the mirror.”

“We have no way of knowing what might have happened to her before she came here,” a new voice replies, “Her fears only need to make sense to her.”

“I suppose you are right,” her mother answers doubtfully, “though I still think it seems foolish to be upset by a mirror.”

“What have you decided to call her?” the stranger wonders.

“That was odd, too,” Sylaise says, “I was trying to come up with a suitable name, and she started making grabbing gestures towards the sky. I did not know what to make of such a thing, but I started listing off some pleasant-sounding sky themed names, and when I said the word ‘sunlight’, she _smiled_ at me and nodded.”

“Does she not smile?” the new person asks, and Aili finally scoots herself around so she can see the woman talking. She is dressed in practical armor with smooth clean edges. Almost plain by the standards of Elvhenan that she has seen thus far. And then she stills in surprise, the rest of the conversation lost as she stares at her face.

She _knows_ her.

Aili squawks in alarm at the discovery, and the woman comes over to her blanket to introduce herself.

“Hello, little one,” she smiles at her, sitting down and pulling out a toy from a pouch on her hip that is clearly meant to be an offering, “My name is Lavellan.”

Aili blinks at the toy for a moment, a stuffed rabbit, as it turns out, before taking it cautiously in her grasp. Could it really be her clanswoman? Could she have been sent back the same way she had? How can she make sure?

She roots around in the grass for a bit, until she finally manages to unearth a stick, and then holds up her prize to show her aunt. Lavellan looks mostly confused.

“Is that a gift for me?”

Aili sighs and shakes her head, and begins to slowly drag herself towards the edge of the blanket near the pathway through the garden. The smooth dirt pathway. The General still does not seem to cotton on until she begins to painstakingly make squiggles in the dirt. Going over the lines again and again, fighting the clumsiness of her chubby fingers, until letters begin to appear.

K-E-L.

_That_ gets her attention. Lavellan moves closer to her on the blanket bending down to whisper in her ear. She seems amazed and confused all at once, and Aili is glad to see that she is not the only one.

“Aili?” she asks softly, switching to Common, “The Aili that was Deshanna’s First? _That_ Aili?”

She nods her head in enthusiastic confirmation. Even dropping her stick to clap her hands in delight. She has not been mistreated, exactly, but it is an indescribable relief, to know that there is someone else here under similar circumstances. Someone she grew up with, of all things.

“How did you get here?” Lavellan wonders. It is strange to think of her as that name instead of the one she knows her by, but if that is what everyone else is calling her, Aili supposes she is going to have to get used to it.

She makes a face at her, picking up her stick and beginning the arduous task of spelling out another word.

S-O-L-A-S.

“When did you meet Solas?” Lavellan asks, “Or do you mean that you only know it was his fault?”

Aili makes another face, sticking her tongue out this time in distaste. She takes her stick and whacks the recently written name repeatedly with all her strength.

“Well…I suppose that means that you must have met him,” Lavellan notes.

“Oh, Aili, look what you’ve done,” Sylaise tuts, coming over and scooping her off the ground, “You are getting your nice new frock all covered in dust.”

Aili makes a sound of mild discontentment, reaching back towards Lavellan as her new mother takes her away. Possibly to pose together with June in some other scenic spot in the garden, so everyone can see what a handsome family they make. She concedes after a minute though, not wanting to get her ‘aunt’ in trouble somehow.

Lavellan glances down at Solas’ name scrawled in the dirt next to her own, and sighs. She wipes them both away before she stands. A strange and almost distant expression on her face as she goes to rejoin the rest to the party. 


	3. Birthday

Aili is eighteen, and her face is bare.

The lack of vallaslin seems like such a minor detail to strike a blow at her, when so much of this new world feels strange and wrong. But it does. She has the mind and the body of an adult again, though if things progress the way they did the first time she grew up, she might round out a little more here and there. Still. She has become herself once more. 

And yet, somehow…she has not. 

Her hair is kept longer. Washed and brushed into gleaming perfection. Her complexion is spotless. Immediately scrubbed free of dirt or sweat or any other unseemly thing her mother might disapprove of. Her magic is noticeably more potent. And her mother…

Her mother is Sylaise; to whom she used to sing the evening hymns when they lit the fires for their camps.

She has never shown her how to fletch an arrow from a wild bird’s feathers. Or cook a meal. Or sew her own clothing. Aili supposes that it might not be beyond her capacities, but why should Sylaise bother to teach her such things? There are servants and attendants and artisans for that.

And her father is June; the great builder. The name that had rung out across the Dalish camp in a steady pounding rhythm as the smiths and craftsmen plied their trade. She almost hears the echo of them in the sounds of his footfalls when he walks through the halls of his tower at the head of his procession. And she wonders what he would have made of that.

He is many things, imperious and slightly awkward among them, but he is not soft and inviting. Not steady and patient in a way and invites trust from anyone and anything that meets him. He does not laugh and tease and be silly with her. To show her how there is strength in being kind.

They are her parents. 

And they are not.

She cannot have the same life twice.

Barring some unforeseen catastrophe, she will never bend her knee and allow the blood writing to etched back into her flesh. Daewyn will not kiss her on the night she is recognized as an adult in a haze of alcohol and teenage giggling. Deshanna will not choose her as her First.

She will not marry Uthivr. 

Not while standing in the Great Hall at Skyhold in the dress Vivienne and Josie had insisted upon. And Leliana’s ridiculous shoes. Not with a pause as she walks down the aisle because her father is crying too hard and has to take a moment to collect himself. 

It cannot be the same. Just as Uthvir cannot be the same, if they ever come to exist in this world. Glory had not seemed to heed her warning, but perhaps what she said will make it a little more cautious. Maybe a few more defenses and places to hide in the Dreaming will be enough to keep the Evanuris at bay. 

But somewhere in the deepest, quietest corners of her heart, she knows.

She knows it will not.

Glory will be lost, like all the others. Like slender arms folding themselves around her. Sharp, deft fingers smoothing their way across the growing swell of her abdomen. Tracing the changing shapes of her body with wonder and wanting. The murmur of warm breath carrying a warmer voice pressed into the skin of her neck.

_Come to bed, Vhenan._

There are mornings when she still catches the smell of them hanging in the air. As though they have simply gotten up before her to get some work done, and their scent is lingering on the bedsheets. She keeps her eyes closed when that happens, knowing it is nothing more than fragments of her own memories slipping after her from the Dreaming. Even so. She will take what she can have.

There are ways to revisit those times, of course. Spirits who would happily show her the reflections of all she has lost, for the right price. But a person cannot live in a dream, no matter how lovely, and she knows that if she dared to step into such a place, she would be far too tempted to remain there. Her world is gone, and she cannot call it back to her through sheer force of will alone.

Her daughter will not return to her with wishing.

They always say that grief is a heavy thing. That the weight of loss bears you to the ground and crushes you until you cannot move or think or speak without pain and effort. Aili has had her share of days like that. Of frustration and tears and a white-hot rage sharp enough to stab at anything within reach.

But more often than not, she simply feels…empty. Numb. Gutted like a fish. Brittle as a dry twig. Raw and aimless and aching. 

If anything, she thinks she needs _more_ weight. Something solid and real to tie her to this place. To prevent her from being swept away by a passing breeze. 

The weight of her child growing within her womb. And the, later, the weight of her nestled in her arms, warm and heavy. Settled over one hip and curled into her chest, one hand balled into the fabric of her shirt as she fights her hardest to fend off sleep. 

She had never wanted to miss anything.

In the end, that is the hardest memory to part with; the sight of her daughter discovering the world. Her gaze had been the soft deep purple of late twilight, bright as a set of polished gemstones. Curious and clever, and sparkling with mischievous intent more often than not. Or scrunched up with laughter. Blazing with disapproval. Heavy-lidded with impending sleep. 

Little Mealla, marvel-eyed at the sight of a distant dragon rising up above the tree line as their carriage slowly made its way through a mountain pass, one hand cupped over her mouth as she let out a gasp of unexpected delight.

_Mamae, can we go closer? I wanna see it! I wanna see more!_

Those are the eyes that haunt her the most. The eyes filled with such wonder. And certainty. Mealla had never had a doubt that the world was hers, and she could have all the time for adventures and growing up that she could ever want from it. 

That her parents could keep her safe from everything.

It is a failure Aili has no words for. A loss that seems so insurmountable that even Lavellan would be beyond its understanding. And there is a part of her that believes she deserves this. The weight of the dead. The weight of everything and nothing, all at once. 

She had carried Mealla into the world, and she had carried her back out of it again. She cannot set her down now. She will not. If she lets her go, if she forgets, even for an instant, then it would be erasing the last vestiges of her existence. There is no one else to remember that she lived. That she breathed the air. That she woke with the sun and slept beneath the stars. 

That she was _real._

Aili is eighteen, her face is bare, and her heart is empty. 

Or else it is too full. Fit to burst, as it is on this night. Throbbing like a wound that needs lancing so it can heal without festering. 

Which is why she finds herself sneaking off after the largest part of the festivities finished up, when the pomp and spectacle had bled more into couples dancing and wandering off into whatever secluded corner they can find to have a bit of a party by themselves. 

Nearly two decades, and she still feels mortified by the fact that her mother insists on involving the entire city of Arlathan in the celebration of her birth. There had been times when she had faced scrutiny as the Inquisitors wife, of course, and the eyes of the clan were always on her when she took up the mantle of Deshanna’s First, but this is different. She feels like some sort of fascinating butterfly, pinned to a card and placed in a glass casing for upper class people to entertain themselves with. 

The lower ranking followers have their own revelries, of course, which is slightly mollifying. At least all this fuss is giving them a chance for a break. And a party is always a good cover for Lavellan’s agents to do their work. It’s…something.

Not enough, though. 

She decides to head to her father’s tower instead of Sylaise’s palace. Her rooms there are slightly less ostentatious, if only because June is mostly content to let her have her own way about decorating them. 

Not that she particularly feels like going to bed at the moment. Being alone in the dark with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company hardly sounds appealing. Not without a little liquid comfort to ease things along. 

Haninan finds her halfway through her second cask of wine, propped up amongst some crates, with tears streaming down her face.

“Whatever happened, I’m sure there are better solutions than drinking your way through two casks of seven hundred-year-old wine,” he says quietly, offering her a hand to help her get to her feet.

“Well, if tha firs’ had made me pass out like I wanted, I would’na have ta open the second one,” Aili slurs out bitterly. 

Without another word, her grandfather scoops her into his arms and carries her back up through the twisting passages of the tower. Aili muttering belligerently into the front of his tunic all the while.

He sets her down again once they have finally made their way up to the roof. Which is not somewhere she even knew a person could get to through the tower. However, if anyone was going to find a way to get someplace no one else was supposed to be, she would bet it would be Haninan.

Her daughter would have liked him, she thinks. 

“Sorry I threw up on you,” she mumbles hoarsely as the cool breeze helps sober her up a bit.

“It wasn’t the first time,” Haninan reminds her with a smile, “Although you are capable of making much more of a mess now than when you were a baby.”

“I’m _still_ a baby, if you listen to Sylaise go on about things,” she sighs, her mouth twisting in discontent as she stares out over the city. There are still drifting orbs glowing in a wide range of pastel colors, meant to be reminiscent of flowers, and music wafting up from the Pleasure District, as well as from her mother’s palace. Even more than the usual amount of light and noise and color that the city generates. It is very beautiful, in its way.

And horrible, too.

“Not a baby,” Haninan consoles her, reaching over to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, “Just…young. Young enough to still merit a bit of fussing and hovering. And you are your parents’ first and only child. You cannot hold it against them too much for wanting to coddle you a bit.”

“Lavellan told you about the place we came from, didn’t she?” Aili asks with another long exhale of breath. When Haninan nods an affirmative, she continues, “In the world I come from, someone my age would be old enough to get married, if they wanted. They would be expected to work and earn their keep and look after themselves. They’d be old enough to have their own child, if they were so inclined. And here… Here, I cannot do anything. I cannot attend council meetings, or fight in tourneys, I can’t even hunt unsupervised. Mother wouldn’t even let me attend my own birthday party unless I stayed with her the whole time. This place… This _life_ , is a prison. A punishment for my failures in that other world. I can’t say I don’t deserve it, but still…it chafes.”

“I am certain you are being too hard on yourself,” Haninan soothes, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, “A wolf came, and destroyed your worlds. You did your best to stop it. You may grieve at the fact that you were not successful, but you should not blame yourself for your defeat.”

“But…I could have done things differently,” Aili tells him thickly, “Vhenan was always suspicious of him. Never wanted to let him too close. I thought they were just being over-protective, but… Maybe we should have cast him out. Been more thorough when we searched for spies. We probably could have killed him, if we had tried early enough. Maybe I could have changed something, even if I couldn’t save the whole world. I could have- I might have been able to save…”

She pauses, overcome, as Haninan pulls her more fully against his chest. Hushing her tears, and running his hands across her back in slow, calming circles.

“Tell me their name, little heart,” he says. “If it will help ease some of your grief, give me their name, and I will mourn them with you. I have never lost a child, but I am no stranger to heartache.”

“ _Mealla_ ,” she whimpers between sobs, and it is such a relief to speak the word aloud to listening ears. To say it as the name of her daughter, instead of a muffled cry chanted into the folds of her blankets. She had not slept those nights, both hopeful and afraid that passing spirits might visit her whilst wearing the guise of her child’s face, as a comfort or a torment. She is never certain which would be worse. 

“A fine name,” Haninan commends, “A flash of light in the darkness.”

“She was so…so little,” Aili hiccups, “And fierce as anything. So clever. You…you would have loved her, Haninan. Everyone… _everyone_ loved her. Even he… The wolf, he held her in his arms. Told her stories. Watched her grow. I never understood how he could just… And my poor Heart… They died…so I could save her. But I couldn’t. I was too late… Too late. When I got to her, she was already gone.”

She keeps talking, memories and stories pouring past her lips like a breached floodgate. Running together until she is not certain she can tell the difference between a true recollection, and the idle fantasies pieced together by her aching heart. 

The mischief her daughter used to stir up. Her talent with magic. The shape of her smile. The weight of her little body in her arms, never to wake again. Spirit trapped beyond the Veil. 

The times she blames her spouse for everything. The blind flashes of rage that twist themselves into moments of ugliness and hate. Their failed wards. The wolf’s victories. Letting her bring a child into the world in the first place, when they knew that gods and monsters were hovering around the edge of their existence, waiting to rend the world apart. 

The immediate guilt that follows those thoughts. Her heart had given their life, after all. Which is more than she did. They would have given more, if they had it. She knows. Their love for their daughter was just as strong as her own. 

Bright as the sun.

Haninan holds her and listens without judgement. Letting her have those feelings, and acknowledge them without shame. Allowing her to share her burden, as much as she can, until weariness and mild inebriation win out, and Aili falls asleep in his arms. 

Her last thought is, as always, of her daughter. 

The little lightning girl. 

They should have known better than to choose that name, she thinks blearily. Because lightning only brightens the sky for an instant. A shining moment of beauty. 

And then it is gone. 


	4. The Search for Glory

In some ways, being the child of an evanuris is not so different from being First to a Keeper.

Even without being directly in charge of things herself, there are a lot of expectations for Aili to live up to, responsibilities to shoulder, and people who need looking after. She has to maintain a certain degree of composure, to project a demeanor that inspires confidence and loyalty. And affection, if she can manage it. Everyone always has their eyes on her, ready to praise her if she succeeds. Ready condemn her, albeit very quietly, if she fails.

The main difference is the sheer scale of her new influence. 

One evening her mother had decided to wear what she had personally thought to be a rather hideous shade of chartreuse that she had insisted was ‘daring’. Aili had not thought much of it at the time, but sure enough, less than a week later, the entire Upper City was awash in the very same shade of snot-colored green. And the trend had held for nearly three months. She had been completely flabbergasted. 

She had thought that being an advisor to the Inquisition might have helped her adjust to the scope of the Evanuris’ sway, if only a little. It was not wholly incongruent, after all, what with a large portion of Thedas insisting that her spouse was some sort of divine savior. But this… She does not know if she can wield this much power without inevitably breaking something. 

It does not seem to have worked out very well for anyone she knows who has tried.

Luckily, she has some time to ease into things. No one in Elvhenan seems to expect much of anything from young children, outside of cuteness and perhaps some sort of wild phase once they start really getting into their magic and travelling about by themselves. And their idea of what actually constitutes a ‘young child’ is…somewhat different than what she is accustomed to. 

When Aili had reached her sixteenth nameday, she was already hip deep in the social mechanizations of clan life. An adult, by most standards. She had collected wild vegetables and herbs, hauled buckets of water, built fires, patched aravels, and helped to look after the children, among other things. All while actively competing against two other clanmates for the honor to be chosen as Deshanna’s First. Learning magic and how to read the old tongue. Preparing for her vallaslin ceremony.

But by the time she reaches the same age among the elves of Arlathan, it seems as though she is…not old enough for much of anything. She still has her lessons and her training, which are extensive, but even those are mostly voluntary. Her parents and extended family all consider her too young to be much involved with affairs of state, though Lavellan keeps her informed, when she can. She cannot compete in tourneys. She cannot hunt unless the creature has been released into some contained area and she is surrounded by attendants and guards to protect her person, which feels a lot like shooting fish in a barrel. She is not even permitted to attend festivals unless she spends the evening glued to her mother’s side.

She feels a bit…aimless.

Aili tries to learn new things to give herself some sense of purpose, some of the crafts and artistry that Elvhenan seems to place such importance on, but she has never been the most proficient at getting her hands to recreate visions from her thoughts. She has the most success with wood carving and clay and other three-dimensional media, anything she can just chip and shave and beat into submission. She suspects there are likely some strange rumors of her vanity, since she seems to spend so much time simply making the same face over and over. 

However, as the daughter of an evanuris, as well as a ‘sweet innocent child’, the only comment anyone is willing to make about it to her face is that it does not look quite right. The expression is wrong for her, almost fierce and nearly always smiling. The girl is too young. Her nose and chin are too sharp. The ears and mouth are a little off.

Aili can concede that they do have a point. The face never looks exactly right, no matter what she does, or how many times she makes it. It horrifies her that perhaps she has already begun to forget the features she had spent so many days gazing at lovingly, and the failed attempts at artwork always seem to mock her somehow. But she is even more afraid of stopping, and letting even more details slip through her fingers.

Her one true solace lays between the pages of books. Sylaise and June both have decent libraries, and there is an even larger one in the city intended for public use, though access to certain materials is restricted based on rank, and in Aili’s case, by age. But there is very little she is denied, and after a while, she begins to build up her own collection of worthwhile reading material. 

She wants to learn _everything_. 

There is no doubt in her mind that there is a certain amount of bias to the historical texts in particular, but even that can be telling, if you know what to look for. 

Aili studies the Dreaming. Converses with almost any spirit who will talk to her, of which there are many. Her memories are unique, and there are many of them who would trade all manner of knowledge for even the slightest glimpse. She presses her advantage, trying her best to make Josephine proud. To be cunning without being ruthless as she seeks out history and truth.

As she seeks out Uthvir.

They had not enjoyed talking overmuch about their origins, and she had never pressed too hard. Certain that they had time. All the time they could ever need, to find enough peace in their life that sharing their burdens would no longer bring all the shame and pain of it back to the surface of their heart. 

But Solas had robbed them of their time. Both of them. 

All of them. 

She has a rough idea of the events that shaped Uthvir’s life, so she at least has something to work from. The real issue is that she has no idea what events in Elvhenan’s history correlate to their own. She has not seen them amongst Andruil’s favored hunters, but she does not know if that means they have not been given to her yet, or if she is simply keeping them to herself. Perhaps they are still suffering at the hands of Falon’Din. Or perhaps they do not even exist yet.

And that poses yet another problem.

“What should you do when you know something terrible is going to happen,” she asks Lavellan one evening over a game of cards not unlike Wicked Grace, “But if you somehow manage to stop this terrible thing, it might mean that someone you care for will never be born?”

“I’ll let you know when I find out,” she replies with a wry twist of her lips. Aili frowns at her, concern permeating the air around them, and Lavellan heaves a weary sigh, “For all we know, simply being here has changed the entire course of history as we know it. And since we clearly came from different worlds, there is no way of knowing if this is even the past of one our own timelines, or another place entirely. Commissioning a suit of armor from a certain vendor could change someone else’s life for the worst. Talking your parents into sparing people from sacrificial death might mean that dozens of other people might be born who never existed in either of our own timelines. There is simply no way of knowing for sure what will happen, and you will make yourself mad if you attempt to reason through every tiny decision. The only option available to either of us is to just…try. To do what we can to make things better. Fix what can be fixed. Save what can be saved. Do…what you feel is right.”

It is not too much longer after that, that she finds herself dreaming of a vast green wood. 

Not that dreams about forests are really all that extraordinary, but this place feels different. Older. Protected. The air is filled with millions of tiny floating lights, gold and white and silver, all twirling through the tree branches. Like living motes of sunlight. Catching in her hair and clothing. Dancing away from her fingertips, as if suddenly shy. 

She has never seen anything like it.

There is an obvious path, and she can make out the shapes of other spirits flitting through the trees. None of them look strong enough to have built this place, though. She gets the distinct impression that this area of the Dreaming is generally hard to reach. Invitation only, as it were.

The trail seems to end very abruptly as she walks along it, and she thinks perhaps she is being barred from venturing any farther. But then the trees shift themselves into a small clearing, and standing at its center is the largest, brightest spirit she has ever met. Several pairs of enormous wings and arms, and a large smiling face that appears mostly curious, for the time being. She feels her eyes burning just from looking at them, and she is not certain if it is the intense light they are exuding, or the powerful rush of emotions that seem to have jammed themselves into her throat.

“How did you find this place, little dreamer?” the spirit wonders in a soft voice that reminds her of the distant tolling of a great bronze bell. It is not loud, yet somehow it still resonates. Making something in her chest thrum, uplifting and awe-inspiring, and maybe just the tiniest bit frightening too. She suddenly feels impossibly small.

“I…I’m not sure,” she confesses hesitantly, glancing around again, “I was…looking for someone.”

“And you think they might be here?” it asks.

“I don’t know,” Aili admits, “So far, I haven’t been able to find them anywhere. They…they might be dead. Or they might never have existed in the first place. The more I look, the less I feel like I know.”

“What a strange quest to have found yourself on,” the spirit comments, sounding amused, but not mockingly so. As if they find something about her oddities inherently endearing. Like a puppy chasing its tail. “And stranger still that it would lead you so deep into the Dreaming, knocking on the door to my home. You would have done better to seek out Curiosity or Purpose or Wisdom, if you were hoping to find some sort of guidance, little one. Or perhaps even Fortune, if your wish was to improve your chances of success. There is glory to be found in the completion of a journey, even if it does not end the way one might hope, but I confess that I have much more interest in the seekers than the lost things themselves. I am afraid I cannot help you.”

“Then…that means…you…you are-” Aili stammers, her -eyes going wide as saucers.

“I am Glory,” the spirit grins, as if her reaction is to be expected, “I thought you must be seeking me in particular, when I felt you trying to enter this place. There are traces of glory hanging about you, bright golden threads tethering you to something that does not quite exist. It is rare to see in someone so young.”

Aili stares at it until her eyes water, searching for something. Some hint or feature of her lost heart. Glory does not look like Uthvir, of course. And it is difficult to be certain, because the sense of the spirit is so vast and radiant that it nearly seems to swallow everything surrounding them, but…

“I think…I know you,” she breathes out, and it feels like her lungs have been burning to exhale that single sentence for a thousand years.

Glory smiles at her again.

“I can see why you must feel that way,” it tells her gently, “There are so many little sparks of light, threaded through your being, and flooding out into the Dreaming here. The pride you have for your people, the heights you reached for to champion them. The alliance you secured for their sakes, even though it also bought your own happiness. The heady rush of victory in battle, small and large. To save the world. To come home to those waiting arms and lift her up and-”

“Enough!” Aili snaps, suddenly brittle and aching. Glory blinks at her.

“I am…sorry, if I have upset you in some way,” it says slowly, bending down until it is nearly level with her face. It does not sound as though it quite understands what could be troubling her.

“I…have a warning for you,” Aili answers, and the words are ash in her mouth. It smacks of treachery, to sacrifice the possibility of Uthvir’s existence in exchange for Glory’s freedom, but she knows… it is what they would choose. She does not know if that makes it right or not, but perhaps that is as close to knowing as she is going to get. “I cannot be sure when it will happen, perhaps the wheels are in motion as we speak, but… The Evanuris will come for you. They will hunt you down and seal you away for the rest of your days. And… Please. Please, go deep into the Dreaming. Go now, and hide yourself where you can never be reached.”

Very carefully, Glory reaches out one of many hands, extends a single long finger, and traces a path down her cheek. Aili feels as though she is being warmed from the inside out. As though she could move mountains and leap over oceans and stop a wildfire with a wave of her hand all in a single afternoon. She thinks she might be close to tears.

“Do not be distressed, little heart,” the spirit coos at her, “You entered this place because I allowed it. It is safe here. The Glory of the People will linger long after your Evanuris have gone into the deep sleep.”

“But-” she tries, floundering.

“So much sadness, for one so small,” Glory continues, hushing her, “But have courage, there will come a time when you can look back at your achievements and feel joy again. Your heart is righteous and true, and it guides you faithfully. I think perhaps, we shall meet again, little dreamer. …But not here.”

“Wait!” Aili cries out, but it is too late. The spirit pushes her back, away from their haven, and even out of the Dreaming itself. And the next thing she knows, she is jolting awake in her bed.

She pitches a decorative vase across the room in frustration, shattering it against the far wall.   
~

A few months later, she is expected to join her mother at the spring festival. The other evanuris journey to the city, ostensibly to enjoy the festivities, but truthfully because there have been more rumors of the Nameless encroaching on their territories, and there has been talk about needing to send an actual force out to crush them. Aili is not permitted to attend the actual political meetings, but there had been a request made by both of her grandparents that she at least be present in the meeting hall to greet them. 

Aili still largely lets Sylaise dress her however she pleases; she can understand the importance of needed to make the right impression, and she certainly does not have a knack for following the frivolous trends of the Arlathan upper class. She thinks that her mother almost finds it strangely satisfying, though, no matter how she tuts and sighs and straightens her collar or moves a lock of hair back to where it should be. Her daughter is quite lovely, according to the Arlathan rumor mill, but lovely is not beautiful. 

Not like Sylaise. 

For her own part, Aili can say that she does not care about her appearance one way or another. And if her lack of perfection is somehow making her mother feel a bit more secure… Well. She can have it. 

But her deficiencies do not seem to stop her uncle from staring at her all through the official proceedings with an intensity that makes her skin crawl.

She must not be the only one who had noticed, because the next day, her mother sits her down and begins teaching her how to alter her appearance with magic. 

It makes her hyper aware of all her perceived flaws in a way she had never paid much attention to before. The slight crookedness of her front teeth. The fact that her left nostril is just the tiniest bit larger than her right. The sparse spray of freckles across her shoulders from long days of training out in the sun. 

It is…strange to be without them. In a way she does not think she likes. Almost like wearing a mask. 

There are definite advantages though. To not looking like herself. It makes it that much easier to look in the mirror and not see ghosts. Her father’s eyes. Her mother’s coloring. The echoes of a long-lost dream.

Aili finds that she can grasp the concept of it rather quickly. 

The easiest change is her hair. She decides that she prefers it dark, unless her mother presses her to wear it in a different shade to match her outfit for an evening. Her skin shifts easily too, with a little more practice, and she moves away from the tawny golden color she had inherited from her mother, to more of a deep rich olive. And between the two, she hardly recognizes herself.

She never can seem to change the color of her eyes though.  
~

Years pass, and Aili takes her place as her mother’s second, advising her and acting as her surrogate whenever needed. She finds that she has a much easier time loving her parents from afar, and spends whatever time she can out in one of the smaller country estates that her mother so rarely deigns to visit. She keeps in close contact with her beloved Aunt Lavellan though, extending whatever help she can to aid her in her efforts for subversion. 

They are put somewhat on hold when the war begins. 

She wants to fight, to join her aunt out with her father’s troops, but she is still considered young, and her parents will only humor her enough to accompany them to well-fortified campsites, when there is little to no chance of an actual skirmish. 

Amidst it all, Aili has done her best to keep an eye on Ghilan’nain and Falon’Din, watching for any signs that they might be in pursuit of Glory at long last. But it is hard to keep track of between troop movements, and shifting supply routes, and building new settlements to provide for followers who have been uprooted by the fighting. Even Lavellan’s agents cannot keep track of everything. 

The fighting drags on, long lulls of peace, broken by sudden fierce clashes. Over and over, like waves trying to beat down a range of mountains.

But every time she returns to the city, Arlathan almost seems to exist outside the rest of the world. The Nameless are discussed in hateful whispers, like an inconvenient infestation, instead of a serious threat. Distant and disconnected with anything that might actually change the course of their lives.

When she enters the meeting hall at her mother’s side, her eyes are automatically drawn to the delicate creature standing just behind Falon’Din. Long pale hair like spun sunlight. Smooth golden skin. Small and slight and somehow…lost. 

Rage and grief flood the air around her before she even has a chance to form a coherent thought. 

“Do not,” her mother warns, reaching over and taking hold of her hand in a way that likely seems purely affectionate from far away. Her grip is fierce. “I know that you have an affection for spirits, but this is a deed that has already been done. Glory has been given a most beautiful form by Ghilan’nain, and Falnon’Din favors them greatly. There are worse fates.”

“Do you really believe that?” Aili wonders, looking up at her frowningly. 

“I believe…that sometimes one creature must be called upon to endure hardships so that others may avoid it,” Sylaise says evenly, reaching up and moving one of her daughter’s dark curls back into its proper place, “Let Falon’Din have his prize, so long as it keeps him from seeking another one. A far more precious one.” 

Aili ducks her head, a sick churning feeling roiling in her gut. Sylaise catches up her chin, forcing her to meet her gaze.

“I did ask,” she assures her softly, “I tried to convince him to engage in some sort of trade in exchange for them. I knew it would upset you. Your father and grandparents did as well. Your uncle is much too fixated on the delights of having something that we all so obviously want to take away from him. He will tire of them eventually, as he tires of all things, and then we can attempt to broach new negotiations.”

“Please,” Aili scrapes out in a broken whisper, “Please, help them. Who knows how many years it will take until he will consider giving them away? Who knows what he might do to them in the interim? What if he-”

“I will not start a feud with my brother in the middle of a war,” Sylaise answers sharply, “You are so fixated on sparing them, but consider all the other lives it would put at risk. The followers Falon’Din would sacrifice to bolster his power to win such a fight. Where is you compassion for them?”

“I…” she begins haltingly before bowing her head again, “You are right, of course. Forgive me. I met Glory once, when I was very young. It was kind to me, and I am afraid I have let sentiment cloud my judgement.”

“You never told me that,” Sylaise blinks at her. Aili shrugs despondently and her mother smiles, stroking her hair fondly, “You have a soft heart, my sweet child. But you should not be so quick to let it show. It makes an easy target for loose daggers.”

Her aunt is of a slightly different opinion.

“I am going to kill him,” Lavellan informs her quietly when they are alone in a somewhat secluded corner of the room, her tone casual, as if asking Aili what the weather has been like in Sylaise’s territory as of late. It is the third day of their meetings, and there are less people and less general enthusiasm for the tasks at hand. Falon’Din is still parading his new acquisition around, but he is drawing a noticeably reduced amount of attention for it, and it seems to be irritating him to no small degree.

“Not if I beat you to it,” Aili grates out under her breath, “But in the meantime, something must be done to help Glory.”

“I am open to suggestions,” the General nods, “but this might not be the best place for such a discussion.”

“Of course,” Aili agrees, her eyes still glued on the poor creature as Falon’Din all but drags them across the room. They seem despondent. Confused. Barely capable of stringing together whole sentences. 

Her jaw clenches, frustration and sorrow radiating from her in fits and bursts. Lavellan eyes her pensively.

“This…is not just about another abused spirit, is it?” she wonders.

“Do you remember some years ago, when I asked about whether it was right to allow something terrible to happen in order to ensure that someone you love came to exist?” Aili returns.

“I think so?” Lavellan answers slowly.

“Well,” Aili sighs dejectedly, “This…is the terrible thing. I tried to stop it, but it happened anyway. And worse than that… I think it might have happened _because_ of me, in some part.”

Lavellan puts a hand on her shoulder. Steadying.

“At least you do not seem to have made things any worse than they were going to be without you,” she offers, though she does not sound any more comforted by the idea than she expects Aili to be. “I’m sorry, lethallan. Hopefully, we will have better luck with other attempts we make to change how history will unfold.”

“What if it was Solas?” Aili asks pointedly. Lavellan’s eyes move back towards the helpless figure being touted about the room like a prized show pony, and her expression sours further. Her hand twitches towards her blade, as though on reflex.

“I never said we were abandoning them to their fate,” she reminds her firmly, “We will find a way to get them away from him, I promise.”

“In the meantime, I think I shall remind my dear uncle that he cannot, in fact, have everything he wants,” Aili grinds out, her hair already lightening. Her aunt grabs her by the wrist.

“Don’t,” she hisses out, “If he is focused on getting back at you, you’ll have even fewer chances at getting Glory away from him.”

“Precisely,” Aili retorts, finishing her shift back to her natural coloring, but leaving the alterations to her features and complexion, giving her that strangely manufactured sort of beauty that Sylaise favors. “If all his attention is on me, he will not be paying attention to anything you might do. He will be watching my people, not yours. If he raises a hand to me, Elgar’nan will beat him senseless, assuming my mother does not kill him first. He wants to flaunt something that everyone desires and no one else can have, and I intend to flaunt right back.”

“This could backfire spectacularly,” Lavellan points out, “What if this makes everything that much worse for Glory? What if he takes out his frustrations on them when he cannot get at you?”

“…I am not sure I believe anything could make things too much worse for Glory than they already are,” Aili murmurs, “And it could just as easily have the opposite effect. He could get bored of them more quickly, and move on to something else.” 

“Are you willing to risk that?” Lavellan wonders. 

Aili pauses for a moment, catching her gaze.

“All we can do is try. Fix what can be fixed. Save who can be saved.”  
~

The fact that she has altered her coloring is not lost on anyone, least of all Falon’Din, even as he does his best to pretend as though she is beneath his notice. There is also some quite murmuring about the obvious similarities between Sylaise’s child and the Lord of the Dead’s new prize. Aili walks with her head held high, trying to project confidence that she does not quite feel as she approaches the pair of them.

Falon’Din is still acting as though he is unaware of her existence, and she takes advantage of the moment to extend her hand, and trace a single finger down the side of Glory’s cheek. Her heart wrenching at the sight of the bright blue vallaslin scrawled across their face. Spilling out over their features like tears.

“I think I know you,” she tells them softly. 

Glory blinks up at her with violet eyes. Not quite the same shade as hers, but noticeably similar. Their expression is glazed, as though drunk or possibly drugged, but they seem to find the wherewithal to meet her eyes when she speaks to them.

Falon’Din’s grip of her hand is crushing.

“Do not touch what is mine,” he hisses out, furious, and clearly barely holding himself back striking her, or something much more. Aili smiles at him, doing her best not to wince. Or rip his arm from his socket and beat him to death with it. But there is collateral damage to consider, including Glory themselves, so she restrains herself.

“Forgive me, Uncle,” she says brightly, venom seeping out around the edges of her tone, “I am curious by nature, as you know. Aunt Ghilan’nain’s work is always so impressive, is it not? To be capable of binding such a powerful spirit and building such a beautiful body for it to inhabit… I find myself almost in awe. She did not get all the details quite right though, did she? The eyes are still a little too blue. Still, I must congratulate her before the meetings conclude; Ghilan’nain’s Glory is a sight to behold.”

“Glory is _mine_ ,” Falon’Din all but shrieks.

“Glory cannot simply be given,” Aili snorts in disdain, “Real glory is only for those who earn it. Who seek it out with a true, clear purpose. Who embody the things that it values so much that it comes to them willingly. Ghilan’nain achieved this Glory. All you did was receive a gift.”

Falon’Din raises a hand to strike her- 

And Sylaise yanks her back away from him, fire in her eyes, radiating cold fury. 

“What do you think you are doing?” she demands, and Aili is not sure which one of them she is talking to. Her uncle seems to find his tongue before she does, though.

“I am teaching her a valuable lesson about insolence,” he snaps.

“She is a _child_ ,” Sylaise retorts.

“She is only a child by your warped perceptions,” he snarls back, “She is more than old enough to receive punishment for her actions.”

“She is _my_ child,” Sylaise reiterates through bared teeth, “If anyone is going to punish her, it shall be me, and no one else.”

Falon’Din makes a face, and Aili gets the distinct impression that he is weighing the outcome of starting an all-out brawl in the middle of the meeting hall. His conclusion seems to be that it would not end well for him. He scoffs.

“See that you find the time in that busy schedule of yours to teach her some manners,” he spits out as he storms off, all but dragging Glory in his wake, “Before she offends someone with less magnanimity, and something tragic occurs.”  
~

But despite the obvious threat, and several attempts made on her life, including one where she was nearly stabbed during a procession in the streets of Arlathan itself, the only figure who seems to attract tragedy is poor Glory.

Aili does not see them fall, too busy maneuvering her own small portion of her mother’s troops across a different area of the battlefield, it is one of her first major fights, and she is eager to prove herself capable. But she feels it somehow. Down in the marrow of her bones. And she hears the cry that follows. The outrage and fury.

She turns, and breaks formation, trying to fight her way over to where they have fallen, but she is too far away.

She comes for them after. When the main body of the army has withdrawn and there is no one left on the field but the dead and the dying. And the carrion birds circling overhead.

As gently as she can, she pulls the shaft of the black arrow from their back and seals the wound with healing magic, turning them over in her arms and caressing their face. Not dead. Not yet. But close. Closer than she would like. 

She gathers as many fragments of the shattered spirit as she can find, and lifts Glory’s body in her arms as though they weigh nothing. Hastily making her way towards where she knows some of Lavellan’s agents are waiting.

“Stop!” a voice calls out, and she turns her head to see three scouts approaching, all bearing Ghilan’nain’s markings. “Our lady wishes that the body of her failed experiment should be returned to her for study. We have been ordered to remove them from the battlefield.”

Aili pulls away her helmet so they can see her face. Free of any vallaslin. The symbols of Sylaise scrawled over the shapes of her armor, bright as moonlight. She scowls at them as they seem to put two and two together and realize who they have been shouting at.

“You are free to take them from me, if you can,” she offers simply, continuing on her way. 

She changes directions a few times, wandering about until she is sure she is not being followed before doubling back and seeking out her aunt’s people.

“Here,” she says, passing the limp body into one of the agent’s arms, “You are…Desire, yes? My aunt told me you would be the one to help them. I was seen taking the body away, which means Falon’Din and Ghilan’nain’s eyes will be on me. Keep them away from Sylaise’s territory. Find somewhere secure in my father’s lands. His voice has been largely quiet on this matter, and they will not suspect him.”

Desire looks as though she is caught somewhere between bursting into tears and vomiting. Aili can hardly blame her. She takes the pouch of spirit shards from her hip and passes it to her. 

“This was all there was left of them,” she informs her quietly. “I am…so sorry.”  
~

The years pass much as they always do. Armor and battles. Fine dresses and festivals. Mountains of tedious paperwork to ensure that her mother’s territory runs smoothly. Especially in the more rural areas she is most likely to overlook.

She has no word of Glory.

Aili insisted that it be that way, for their safety. And because she does not know what sort of strange effect she might have had on them, if she had been the one to shape their views of the world. If her obvious devotion would somehow be misconstrued as an obsession similar to Falon’Din’s. 

The spring festival arrives in Arlathan again, and her mother insists, as she always does, that she attend.

She is in an outfit that makes her feel like a walking rosebush more than anything else. Live flowers blooming across the top of her gown, bright blushing pink and dark velvety crimson, offset with threads of gold and touches of starlight all tumbling down into a gauzy green skirt. Her hair is a loud flaming red, and her skin is pale, as though suggesting she is merely another type of rose.

The damn train on this dress is an absolute menace. 

She spots them standing near the General, out in one of the open courtyards in front of one of the Pleasure houses. Melarue’s if she is not mistaken. She does not spend much time here herself, unless there is some function going on in the city, but it is difficult to know anything of the Pleasure District without hearing their name. 

Aili hears her heart thundering roughly in her chest as she walks over to them, attempting to act casual. They look younger, brighter somehow, than she remembers. They wear their hair in a slightly different fashion and, the biggest difference of all, the vallaslin written across their face is done in copper instead of red. June’s vallaslin.

“Aunt Lavellan,” she greets, pressing forward for a brief embrace, made somewhat awkward between all of her leafy bits of finery and the shapes of the General’s armor. Her eyes shift to her companion and she nearly swallows her tongue. They will not be the same, she reminds herself. They will not know her. “And who is this?”

“My name is Uthvir, my lady,” they say with a courteous bow, “I have the honor of serving your father as a cartographer.”

“A fine and noble profession,” she commends. 

“Thank you, my lady,” they reply with another inclination of their head.

Silence blooms between them. Lavellan gives her a look. Uthvir blinks at her. And for her own part, Aili finds herself at a complete loss for words. 

_I think I know you_ , she nearly blurts out. She can see the same features that she fell in love with. Their nose. Their chin. Their eyes. The face of her spouse. 

The face of her beloved daughter.

Instead she tugs a rose off of her dress, a red one, and hands it to them.

“You should dance with me some time,” she tells them instead, smiling faintly and hoping they do not catch the slight waver in her voice, “When you are feeling brave.” 


	5. Deja Vu

It begins with a fountain.

A new project of Falon’Din’s, to be specific. Intended to be sixty feet high, crafted of platinum and black marble and rubies. Blood burbling and spraying out from the heads of several fierce-looking dragons. The objective was for the piece to be grand and awe-inspiring and intimidating, but in reality the effect is simply morbid…and a bit gross. The stench alone is enough to make one’s stomach churn. 

Aili had overheard one of the stable hands while she was visiting Sylaise’s halla, a servant of Ghilan’nain, complaining about how the monstrosity was being built on what was technically their lady’s property, and how Falon’Din had set his followers to harass anyone who dared to venture too close to the construction site. Upon further investigation, it seems as though there is quite a fuss being made over this mess in the middle and lower ranks, albeit most of the citizens willing to voice their concerns will only do so behind closed doors to people they know and trust. The worry seems especially prevalent among the followers of Aili’s own parents, who largely deal with city planning and maintenance, who claim that it will draw too much power away from one of the central fault lines of magic beneath the city, and potentially cause either a large explosion or a sink hole at some unspecified time in the future. 

However, none of the other Evanuris or their high ranking followers seem keen to involve themselves in what is generally being seen as another childish squabble between Ghilan’nain and Falon’Din. Andruil could potentially be pressed to intercede on behalf of her wife’s honor, but that would likely cause more problems than it solves. And when Aili had cautiously petitioned her mother for aid, Sylaise had been more inclined to wait until the thing was constructed, and then order that walls be built around it so that none of them would be forced to endure her brother’s questionable sense of taste. As for her father’s part, June had been willing to concede to Falon’Din’s builders, which came as no great surprise. They had filled out all the necessary forms and the reports from his own city planners had not turned up anything alarming. Probably because they had been bribed or threatened into submission, though suggesting that his followers were more cowed by Falon’Din’s wrath than his own was not a subject she had been willing to breech. 

Fortunately, her aunt is much less prone to complacency. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Lavellan asks as Aili finishes changing her clothes in a tiny unoccupied apartment not far from Ess’ tavern. 

“Help you blow up something of Falon’Din’s?” she answers with a breathless laugh, pulling her hair back into a simple ponytail, “Oh, most definitely.”

“You already helped by giving me the information,” Lavellan points out, “I might not have heard of the concerns about the fault line if you had not looked into it. My question, as I am sure you were aware, was about this sudden desire to adopt a disguise so you can go tromping through the sewers with me.”

“Is it really a disguise if I’m using my natural features, for a change?” Aili wonders, flashing her a grin.

“Those are the most cunning disguises of all,” Lavellan frowns, her thoughts turning towards a certain elven apostate, “Especially when you insist on using a fake name, _Easha_.” 

“Eas- _na_ ,” Aili corrects her, folding her arms across her chest and giving her a long thoughtful look, “I understand your concerns, but it’s not like I can’t hold my own in a fight. I know that the paper-pushing side of things is useful to you, finding ways to funnel supplies to places that need it, and scooping people out of harm’s way, but I much prefer to be in the thick of things. I like to get my hands dirty. And there is no way I could do that as my mother’s daughter without causing a political shit storm. I don’t think Mythal is overly pleased at how close we are as it is. You are a hero of the people, and I…am my mother’s prized doll. Seeing the pair of us spending time together in the lower district with a rag-tag group of miscreants would immediately arouse suspicion.”

“Sylaise…cares for you,” Lavellan attempts to reassure her, placing a hand on her shoulder. 

“I know,” Aili sighs, sounding suddenly weary, “There is kindness in her, and devotion, even if it stems from a desire to keep hold of something she sees as a possession. And her affection for my father is genuine, I believe. They both have potential to be…other than they are, I think. Softer, perhaps, if they had become less fixated on keeping up appearances. I don’t know if they would do a better job of running things than Mythal and Elgar’nan in the end, but they are at least willing to heed the council of rational people and that is…something. I…do not want them to die. I do not want to watch them fall. Even if they are not truly my…”

“I understand,” Lavellan replies, giving her shoulder a squeeze. She gives Aili a once-over, and it seems almost strange to see her in leggings and a tunic. In the simple rough-spun clothing of a low ranking servant. Strange, and yet…right. Slightly aching, like all the little things that remind her of her former life. She can concede that anyone who does not know Aili well is unlikely to assume she is an Evanuris’ daughter. Lavellan lets out a long breath.

“Are you certain no one knows you are in the city?” she asks.

“It is not unusual for me to indulge in long bouts of seclusion,” Aili shrugs, “Venavisimi might suspect something, but I doubt he will say anything that might damage my reputation. I have one or two devoted handmaidens who believe I am sneaking out to spend time with a lover that my mother disapproves of. They deliver food to my chambers and forward any urgent correspondence to a drop point on the far side of the city. They seem to think the whole thing is terribly romantic.”

“Speaking of,” Lavellan begins, arching a brow at her ‘niece’, “Are you certain this masquerade has nothing to with the way Uthvir’s gaze happened to be trailing after a certain follower of Mythal’s at that soiree last month?” 

“Of course not!” Aili insists, “Uthvir is free to pursue anyone they want to.”

Lavellan’s expression remains dubious.

“…Alright, so it might have _something_ to do with it,” she admits with a sigh, “This whole thing is such a mess. I see them, and they have the face of my spouse. Their eyes, their voice, their… _everything_. but they aren’t them, and they’re never going to be. Because they aren’t the same person. Not really. Uthvir isn’t just going to wake up one morning and remember the day we got married and the life we had together. My Uthvir is gone forever. This new version of them is so young and… _soft_ , for lack of a better word. So different. And yet, I look at them and there is just…something. I can’t even describe it, but I…find it hard to keep my distance.”

“You could always simply approach them as yourself without all this charade,” Lavellan suggests, “I understand if you wanted to be cautious because of your rank, but I doubt Uthvir would be opposed to the idea. Thenvunin was not the only person they had their eye on at that party.”

“Have you ever listened to them talk to me?” Aili groans, “The deference and the…ugh. They think I want them to be someone else. And I’m not entirely sure I can say they’re wrong. That was part of the reason I didn’t simply hide them away myself when Glory shattered. I was afraid I would…warp them somehow, because it is impossible not to make comparisons. They should have a chance to grow into their own person. To fall in love and be happy in their own way, and in their own time. I want that for them more than anything else. I just…need to make sure they stay safe, too.”

“Well,” Lavellan says, “You are at least right about one thing; this is a mess. I won’t stop you, if you are really this set on it, but let the record state that I said it was a bad plan from the start.”

“Duly noted,” Aili grins at her.

Lavellan sighs again, exasperated and fond all at once.

“What am I supposed to tell your mother if you get yourself killed?” she wonders.

“Blame Falon’Din,” Aili suggests with a laugh. 

The last thing to change is a different sort of alteration for her features. The spell to give her the appearance of having vallaslin. It itches faintly as the bronze whorls of Ghilan’nain’s markings unfurl across her brow. Aili swallows thickly as she catches sight of her face in the little cracked mirror hanging on the wall. For the first time in centuries, she looks like…herself.

She reaches out and touches her reflection. Wistful.

“Is it wrong to say that I missed them?” she wonders. “I know what they are now. What they mean to the people here. But…they were a part of me. I can still remember the look on Deshanna’s face during the ceremony. And the pain of it. How hard it was not to cry. I was eighteen, I was a prime candidate to become First, and I’d never been prouder of anything in my life.” Aili frowns. “They were supposed to be a symbol of defiance. Of belonging to each other,” she says with a hint of bitterness.

“It’s not wrong to remember them that way,” Lavellan replies simply, “Though I don’t think I would volunteer to have them again in this setting.”

“Nor I,” Aili agrees wryly, “Though I suppose Ghilan’nain is not the worst person to be saddled with.”

“There are much more unpleasant jobs in this city than cleaning up halla shit,” Lavellan concurs with a pat to her shoulder, “Come on, the others will be waiting for us.”  
~  
Aili thinks the game might be up before it even begins when she walks into Ess’ tavern at Lavellan’s side and sees Haninan sitting at a table with what she can only assume are an assortment of other agents. She briefly wonders how many of them she has read about in reports from her aunt, codenames without faces or anything in the way of description that could lead back to them if the message was intercepted, but the thought evaporates at the prospect of being ousted by her grandfather. 

His eyebrows seem intent on launching themselves up into his hairline, but other than that he has the good sense to keep his peace until some sort of explanation is offered. He gives a very pointed look between Lavellan and Aili, as if waiting to see which of them is going to clue him in on exactly what is going on. Not quite disapproving yet, but obviously surprised. 

As old as she is, Aili still finds herself quelling slightly under that familiar piercing gaze, so reminiscent of the one her birth mother had fixed her with every time she knew she had done something naughty. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, feeling strangely guilty, wishing she had found some way of explaining things to him beforehand.

Mercifully, Uthvir chooses this opportune moment to stroll through the door, Desire a few paces behind them. 

They look fresh-faced and eager, despite the danger they are likely about to walk into. Wind-swept and rosy cheeked. Their eyes are bright and there is a certain sort of newness still clinging to them. A softness around their edges. And lingering uncertainties, though those are likely hard to spot for anyone who does not know them well. With the possible exception of Haninan.

They look like her Uthvir. Which is inescapable, to a certain degree, she supposes. Not like their typical everyday persona of the Fearsome Hunter, obviously, but it makes her thinks of quiet moments. The stolen hours between missions and trade deals and paperwork, when they could simply pause and be a somewhat normal married couple. A new family tripping their way through their own problems, but still very much in love.

_Disgustingly smitten_ , as Varric had put it, when the Inquisitor was safely out of earshot. 

Unbidden, a memory rises in her mind. 

_Gingerly edging her way down the long stairs of Skyhold to greet the returning Inquisitor and their party in the courtyard. Morning sunlight catching along the edges of their armor as they swing off the back of their hart before coming over to gather her up in their arms. A similar spark of light igniting within the depths of their gaze just before they kiss her. They are ever cautious of pressing her too firmly against spikes and other sharp angles of their outfit, but apparently jubilant enough in this moment that they cannot quite resist the urge to spin her around a little before carrying her back up the staircase she had just descended from._

_‘I can still handle the simple task of walking up a flight of stairs, Ma sa’lath,’ she sighs, slightly breathless with laughter and not really sounding all that upset about it.  
_

_‘Presumably,’ they hum, nuzzling their nose into her hair just a bit, ‘but why risk it?’  
_

_‘You’re in a fine mood,’ she notes, fingers tightening in their collar. Uthvir grins toothily._

_‘I killed you a dragon,’ they whisper against her ear, nibbling at it ever so slightly._

_‘You killed_ me _a dragon?’ she asks, amused and relieved and just a little swept up in their own sense of triumph. ‘I thought you killed it because it was harassing our agents and making off with half the villagers’ livestock.’_

_‘All secondary to showering you with favors,’ they insist, ‘I was uncertain what you might like as a trophy, however, so I brought back a bit of everything. Horns, scales, teeth, whatever you prefer.’_

_‘Bringing yourself home in one piece was more than enough,’ she assures them in a low voice, tugging their head down to claim a kiss of her own. They smirk against her lips, pleased and a bit devious as they steer both of them towards the passage leading to their chambers, despite Josephine calling out behind them._

_‘Well, if I am all the prize you want, then you shall receive it in abundance.’_

Aili jolts back into the present when Lavellan’s elbow gives her a firm nudge to her ribs. Apparently, people have been speaking to her. More specifically, Uthvir has been speaking to her. And all she has managed to do in return is stare at them wistfully. The expression on their face seems to be one of mounting concern. 

“You _do_ have a name, don’t you?” they check. She wonders how many times they have asked for it while she stood there gaping at them.

“Ah. Y-yes,” she stammers, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks, “I do have a name! A name that people call me. And I answer to it!”

Haninan snorts. He seems insufferably amused by the whole thing, his face split in a wide knowing grin. It’s tempting to toss a sour look in his direction, but it would also probably come off as suspicious.

“Well…what is it, then?” they ask, arching a brow. Possibly speculating as to whether or not this is some sort of strange game she’s playing. A spy set to infiltrate the ranks of the resistance in the form of some low-ranking bumpkin. Their gaze narrows slightly as they look her over. There is no light of recognition in their eyes.

Aili thought she would have gotten used to the pain of that by now. Apparently not. She swallows thickly, still flustered and off-balance.

“E-easna,” she mumbles out finally, twisting her fingers together and lowering her gaze, “My name is Easna.”   
~  
They split up into teams, all heading to different access points to sabotage different pipelines funneling magic towards the offending fountain. It seems like the wisest course of action, since catching sight of six random people who are not even followers of the same Evanuris all trying to sneak into a single entrance into the sewers would likely raise some alarm bells. Desire had initially made a bid for being paired with Uthvir, naturally, but Haninan had intervened at the last minute, charming her into being his own partner instead. The General was already teamed up with a follower of Sylaise, who Aili had not been too keen to pair with, lest her facial features suddenly become more recognizable under closer scrutiny. And the other agents present had been selected as the extraction team, on standby in the likely event that something goes wrong.

Which means, of course, that Aili has been paired with Uthvir. Or rather, ‘Easna’ has.

Haninan tosses her a wink as he goes out the door, which they don’t seem to notice. And Lavellan claps a hand on her shoulder in passing, which they do. They shoot her a curious glance, but outside of a little awkwardness, the air between them is calm and unassuming, so she figures that she’s probably in the clear.

A dozen feet or so out into the streets of the city proves that theory wrong.

“So…how do you know that General?” Uthvir asks.

“Everybody knows the General,” Aili shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. This world has shaped her into a much more proficient liar, but she’s never been especially good at keeping the truth from Uthvir. And what’s more, she doesn’t want to keep the truth from them. Regarding most things, at any rate. 

“Everyone knows who she is,” they allow, “but it is rare that a servant of Ghilan’nain would seek her aid. Or even have much of an opportunity to speak with her.”

“I help care for the halla,” she says, which is not completely untrue. She has helped tend to Sylaise’s halla on numerous occasions. “The General is fond of them, and I have seen her in my Lady’s stables many times. When I heard the rumors about the issues with the fountain, she seemed like the obvious person to bring my concerns to, given her reputation.”

They shrug their shoulders, accepting her answer, but clearly not at ease.

“Am I truly so suspicious?” she wonders as they round a corner into an alley, closing in on the entrance to the sewers they are meant to take. There is a cleverly concealed hatch, meant to look like an ordinary paving stone. Only under close scrutiny can the edges of the covering be seen. 

“You do not seem to know your own name yet,” they point out, crouching down to work at some of the seals holding the hatch closed. “If I do not know who you are, and you don’t either, then who knows what you might do in a dangerous situation?”

“I decided to change it recently,” Aili explains, another half-truth, “I haven’t gotten used to answering to it just yet. And I can look after myself. And you too, if it comes to that.” 

“What was your name before?” Uthvir asks, pausing their work to blink up at her.

“If I wanted people to use my old name, I wouldn’t have picked a new one,” she smirks at them. 

“Fair enough,” they concede with a slight inclination of their head. They finally tug the cover off the entrance to the sewers, sparing a moment to peer down into the dark before looking back up at her. “Do you even have anything to fight with? Using a lot of magic in the sewers is… unwise. Especially since we will be working so close to one of the fault lines.”

“I have this,” she says, pulling out a worn and battered dagger she had rescued from her father’s incinerators. All of her usual gear had been too fine for a servant of Ghilan’nain.

Uthvir makes a face at the poor excuse for a weapon before heaving a weary sigh.

“I suppose you will just have to stay close to me, then,” they huff out, sounding a bit exasperated, but there is no sense of true anger in the air surrounding them.

“If you insist,” she answers with just a hint of playful warmth before she can think better of it. Uthvir is busy climbing down onto the ladder into the sewers, activating the lights along the tunnel, and seems to miss the intent of her comment. As well as her flaming cheeks. 

“I would think that you would be the one insisting, given the circumstances,” they reply a moment later, their voice echoing from the passage below.

“I told you, I can look after myself,” Aili reminds them, turning around to begin her own decent into the tunnels beneath the city. “Is there some specific reason that you doubt my word?”

“…You were staring at me for a long time,” they admit quietly, “It was a bit…strange.”

“Do you not like being looked at?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

“Well…I suppose it might depend on the reason someone was looking,” Uthvir concedes.

“Maybe I just like the way you look?” she offers.

There is a long, breathless pause as Uthvir takes a moment to process that tidbit of information and Aili vehemently curses her own tongue. If there was no risk of knocking Uthvir off the ladder, she might seriously consider simply letting go and floating away with the rest of the garbage. She has negotiated trade deals and border disputes for well over two thousand years at this point, but apparently a normal conversation with someone she finds attractive is beyond her means.

She might…be out of practice. A bit. 

“Then… _maybe_ I do not mind you looking?” Uthvir finally replies, and she can almost feel the hint of a smirk curling up one side of their mouth. 

“But there’s someone else you’d rather have looking at you?” she guesses.

“…Perhaps,” they confess a few moments later, and, spirits preserve her, they nearly sound _bashful_ about it, “Although, so long as you are not a double agent sent to kill us all, I suppose there is no harm in it. You are rather nice to look at yourself.”

Her heartbeat falters, and for half a moment she thinks her soul might be attempting to leave her body.

By some grace, they have finally reached the bottom of the ladder, and their conversation is lost to the serious nature of their mission before she can find any other means of embarrassing herself.

Due to Uthvir’s familiarity with blood magic, the pair of them have been handed the particular task of cutting off the main source of magic being funneled into the fountain, while the other two parties focus on shutting down a few smaller pipelines and, ultimately, the demolition of the monstrosity itself. The general consensus being that blood magic is less likely to cause a reaction from the ambient magic from the Dreaming, and the sensitive wards and workings of the tunnels near the fault line, hopefully preventing them from blowing up half the city in their endeavor.

It also allows them to track the specific pipes that are pumping blood towards the horrendous thing, seeing as nothing else in the area requires it. A useful trick, considering that the blueprints that the General had manage to acquire from…somewhere, are unlikely to be of much use. Falon’Din’s builders have a reputation for less than admirable craftsmanship.

Aili and Uthvir don’t have much of an opportunity to continue talking, and she supposes that it’s just as well. She wasn’t exactly doing a great job of playing the part of a casual stranger who was wholly uninvested in the workings of their life. ‘Easna’ has no cause to pity or protect them beyond what a newly made acquaintance might, or perhaps a little more, given the dangerous setting they find themselves in, but she finds that she cannot quite keep that distance in her tone or her expression. It is too tempting to reveal her heart to them, when she has already seen the brightness of their own. 

Even if they are not quite the same.

The piping and seals put into place by Falon’Din’s workers are…haphazard, to say the least. Likely owing to their master’s unreasonable time constraints and a general lack of safety precautions. On the one hand, it makes the job of siphoning mana in other directions away from the fault line much easier. On the other, it means that the slightest error could cause an explosion that could, at the very least, send half the sewers crashing down on them.

They run into a few strange, warped little creatures, likely survivors from the purge of one of Ghila’nain’s laboratories. There is a bit of skirmish to chase them off, but nothing too serious. Nothing that requires magic. Uthvir seems to eye her with a mix of both surprise and admiration afterwards, however.

“I am amazed you can actually fight with that thing,” they admit, “Although, I would have been amazed just to see that dagger manage to slice bread, come to it.”

“I told you I could handle myself,” she grins.

“So I see,” they reply with a tilt of their head, “I was unaware that Ghila’nain had her halla tenders trained as warriors.”

“Well…’warrior’ might be a stretch,” she says, self-consciously twisting the end of her ponytail. It is as close to an outright lie about herself as she has come thus far. It might be a stretch to call her a warrior, as it has never been her primary duty in either of her lifetimes. But she has been trained to fight. She has seen her share of battlefields. It is a stretch. But not much of one. “…My mother taught me.”

“She is a soldier, then?” they wonder.

“She was a hunter. A great hunter. Who bore the vallaslin of the Lady Andruil,” she tells them quietly.

“She is not anymore?” they ask.

“She…died,” she replies stiffly, the air around her going still as the clamps down on a sudden rush of sorrow.

“I am sorry,” Uthvir offers, sounding a bit wrong-footed. Aili shrugs.

“It happened a long time ago.”

They leave it at that, and make their way down the passageway until at last they reach their goal: the main junction feeding power into the fountain. There are several seals placed around it. Complicated, but sloppy. Uthvir takes the largest one onto themselves, neatly cutting a line into their forearm and using their blood to slowly strip it of it’s magic. Aili turns her focus to the smaller wards, rationing out just enough mana to alter them or render them useless, as needed, almost forgetting to breathe.

A loud groaning echoes through the pipes from somewhere above them, and Uthvir lets out a sound of triumph.

“We did it!” they beam at her.

She is about to answer, when an ominous rumbling starts up from the direction of where the fountain should be. In a flash, Uthvir is scrambling back the way they came, grabbing hold of her arm in passing and yanking her along. Haninan had theorized that shutting off the power might cause some sort of backlash, but she had thought they would have had more and a few seconds to remove themselves from danger.

They only get a few feet back the way they came, when the rumbling turns into an all-out quake. Nearly deafening as the noise bounces off the slick stone walls surrounding them. It is all they can do to keep their feet as they both struggle to make their way back in the direction of daylight and relative safety. 

Uthvir shouts something at her, but she can’t make out what it is. And then there comes an even louder BOOM blasting in their ears. And everything grows dark as pieces of the walls and ceiling come crashing down around them.

For a few moments, Aili wonders if she is dead at long last. There is nothing around her except blackness and silence. A distant ringing in her ears after so much noise.

And then she hears Uthvir.

“…Easna?” they call out softly, breath labored and the air around them twisting in pain, “Easna, are you alright? My foot, I can’t… I can’t move it. I can’t see it. …We…have to…call for help. Let the General…”

“I’m right here,” she whispers, crawling over to them blindly, “I might have a few bruises, but I’m alright. Can you move at all?”

“I…don’t know,” they confess, “but we have to get out of here before Falon’Din sends people to investigate. I might be able to pass myself off as a maintenance worker, but you…”

“I’ll be alright,” she promises, “but I don’t know how we can get out of here on our own. Casting magic is what got us into this mess in the first place. I’d hate to see what happened if I summoned enough power to get some light. Or to heal you.”

“Shifting rocks we cannot see sounds like a bad plan,” they agree. She hears them fumble with something, possibly an item tucked into their shirt, before they begin speaking again. “Squish? General? Is anyone there?”

A few moments pass, and Aili worries that perhaps they were not the only pair to meet with tragedy. But then the voice of Lavellan comes floating up through the darkness, warm and welcoming as a shaft of daylight. And it is a visceral bolt of relief.

“We’re here,” Lavellan answers, sounding worried, “Did something happen? Everyone else has checked in.”

“Easna and I are trapped near the main power junction,” they grunt, “Cave in. We cannot see, and we cannot use magic.”

“Uthvir is wounded,” Aili interjects.

“We’re on the way,” the General promises, “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine once I can see the sun again,” she replies.

“Understood,” Lavellan tells her, “Sit tight, we’ll get to you as fast as we can.”

The conversation ends, and all there is left to hear is Uthivr’s shallow breathing and a the faint dripping of sewer water.

“Is there anything I can do?” Aili wonders. She could heal them in a flash under normal circumstances. She could even dress their injuries in the mundane fashion, if she could see them. She hates feeling useless at a time like this.

“Talk to me?” Uthvir suggests, “Any sort of distraction would be welcome.”

“…would you like a pillow?” she wonders, edging a bit closer to them. A little bit of comfort is at least better than nothing.

“A pillow?” Uthvir repeats, confused.

“You can use my lap,” she explains, “I don’t mind, given the circumstances. It has to be a nicer than laying your head in the sewer muck.”

“Alright,” Uthvir allows, sounding more pained than anything.

She carefully lifts their head and slides her legs beneath it, leaning her back against the wall as she settles them into place. Just once, she lets her hand brush through their hair, under the pretense of moving it back from their face. 

“Are you fond of fairy tales?” she asks after a pause.

“It seems as good a subject matter as any, I suppose,” Uthvir breathes out.

“Alright,” Aili replies in a low voice, letting her mind take her back to warm open rooms and days of sunshine, “This is an old one. A very old one, now. About how the Sun fell in love with the Moon…”


	6. Kiss Fest #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fey wrote this one and another chapter down the road, but I wrote the one between them, so it's weird without hers.

There is a celebration that is held in Sylaise’s lands. It is called the Festival of Kisses, and it happens once every five years.

It is not something which is carried over into Arlathan, though Uthvir has heard that it is quite popular in most of the cities and settlements of Sylaise’s territories. But they do not know all of the particulars of it, except that part of the celebration involves eligible people wearing outfits that have these glossy pink tags spelled onto them. At random intervals, the adhesive spells on the tags will fail, and then local spirits of things like Affection and Desire and Love will carry the tags through the air. Anyone who catches a tag is obliged to offer a kiss to the elf whose name is on it.

It sounds… dangerous, to Uthvir. Squish tells them that it is just silly, and that anyone can refuse a kiss, but Uthvir has learned enough to know that ‘anyone can refuse’ usually only applies to people of the same rank, or who will not be offended at being denied. It makes them glad that they serve June, and that Sylaise’s holidays do not always cross-pollinate throughout the territories. And Squish agrees that the reason the festival does not happen in Arlathan is because the few times it was attempted, there were a lot of problems.

This is why, when Uthvir is busily bringing General Lavellan some reports that just came in through the City Tower Messengers, the sight of Lady Aili does not have its usual effect on them.

Well.

It stops them dead in their tracks and makes their stomach twist into knots, but rather than feeling nervous of making a fool of themselves in front of their hero, Uthvir feels a sinking sort of queasy dread.

Lady Aili is wearing a gown that is covered in little pink tags.

“-making me do this _again,_ even though it is just ridiculous,” she is saying to the General. Who is mostly focused on the schematics in front of her in the work room. Uthvir freezes in the dooframe, and wonders what they should do. Clearly they are interrupting, but…

“They are not doing that _here_ now, are they?” they cannot help but ask.

Lady Aili and General Lavellan both look up at them. Lady Aili’s aura goes closed, as it tends to whenever they turn up. She does not trust them very well, Uthvir suspects - but then, they have hardly had any time to speak. General Lavellan, on the other hand, smiles at them in greeting, and heads over to take the messages from them.

“No,” she says, catching their meaning. “Lady Sylaise sometimes becomes insistent that her daughter participate in the festival, but mainly to annoy her own mother. It is complicated. Aili is just here to hide, now that the initial parade is finished.”

“Ah,” Uthvir replies.

“…I am going to go change,” Lady Aili stiffly declares. General Lavellan gives her a sympathetic look, and then gestures towards a doorway at the back of the room. Not to guide her niece, it would seem, but to stop it from moving with the shifting architecture just long enough for her to hurry out. Uthvir watches her go, and tries not to project any sort of wistfulness. They would like to speak to her more… but right now, they are hardly anybody with enough sway to do so, and Lady Aili is a very busy person.

Their eyes cannot help but land on the single pink tag, however, they flutters loose from her dress.

Lady Aili and General Lavellan both go still, as Uthvir reaches out and thoughtlessly catches the little slip.

It tingles a bit against their fingers. The material is pleasantly smooth, and Lady Aili’s name is written on it in elegant script that, from far away, looked more like a decoration than anything else. Uthvir blinks at it, before they register what they’ve done, and then glance up again.

… _Oh._

Lady Aili’s emotions are even tighter than usual. General Lavellan still looks sympathetic, but also a bit amused.

What should they do?

They think, briefly, of kissing Lady Aili. Of what it might be like. To get that close, to feel her breath on their lips, and see her eyes so near. Feel the warmth of her palms settling onto their shoulders. But they banish the thought, nearly as soon as they have it. Lady Aili came here to _hide,_ she very obviously does not want to oblige random strangers with kisses, and while Uthvir is not quite a stranger, they have barely spoken to one another since she rescued them.

“Should I give it back…?” they venture.

“Common policy is to return it with a kiss,” the General informs them. Lady Aili shoots her aunt a look that seems, very briefly, alarmed.

That decides Uthvir.

“Well, I shall take a kiss then - but only the one offered,” they say, and before anyone can respond, they press their lips to the little pink tag instead. The General makes an odd sound, and when they look up again, the Lady Aili’s cheeks are pinker than they were a minute ago. Uthvir gets the distinct impression that they have done something they oughtn’t have.

“…Kissing the tag has _implications,_ doesn’t it?” they surmise, ruefully. “I apologize, I… I thought it would be more polite than…”

General Lavellan waves away their concern, however.

“It is,” she assures them. “That was very polite, Uthvir, but you just implied an interest in _courting_ Aili, so she might need a moment.”

Ah.

Whoops.

Not, they think, that it is necessarily _untrue._ But they would hardly presume so much. Lady Aili is probably embarrassed on their behalf, or maybe even a little offended. Uthvir clears their throat, and hastily makes their way over to her. Ignoring the way their heart speeds up, as they hand her back the tag. Her fingers take a moment to close over it.

“My apologies,” they say.

“It… was an accident. No need for apologies,” Lady Aili tells them, graciously.

Uthvir manages to summon up enough of their personal reserves to offer her a wink.

“Next time, I will just kiss _you,”_ they joke.

After the way Lady Aili hurries from the room, though, they end up kicking themselves quite a lot for that one.


	7. Kiss Fest #2

Aili is nearly breathless by the time she makes it back to her private suite of rooms in June’s tower. Partially because she had practically run the entire way from Lavellan’s office, which involved two different eluvians and quite a lot of stairs, but also because… Well.

Uthvir had almost kissed her.

Sort of.

Her first instinct when she had seen them in the doorway was to rip off her ridiculous dress covered in ridiculous tags for her mother’s ridiculous festival and hurl it into the nearest garbage chute available. Not that she didn’t _want_ to kiss them, of course, but… She would rather not have it happen like that. Having it foisted on them through some stupid tradition instead of it just happening naturally.

She would also rather it not happen around witnesses, because she gets the distinct impression that if she kisses Uthvir, there is most likely going to be tears involved, which would be mortifying and very difficult to explain away. And she will likely find herself unable to hold her feelings in check around them anymore, which is already a struggle. Not to mention the fact that once she started kissing them, she would likely have a hard time finding an excuse to _stop_ kissing them…

So, common sense had won out. She had realized that destroying her gown would likely be such a painfully obvious display of aversion, that it might also be taken as a flat-out rejection. And while she personally thinks it would be better for them to look for romance in other quarters, Aili finds that she is not quite capable of turning them away.

Then one of her stupid tags had managed to fly off while she was making a hasty retreat.

And Uthvir had caught it, because _of course_ they did.

Then Lavellan had taken the opportunity to throw her under the proverbial wagon with her remarks about returning the dratted thing with a kiss. And that had naturally led to Aili being torn between trying to disguise the fact that her heart was all but ready to leap out of her chest and attempting to figure out some subtle way of kicking her aunt in the shin. It likely wouldn’t have done anything except hurt her own toes, however, so it’s probably just as well.

Nothing could quite prepare her for the sight of Uthvir kissing that absurd little slip of pink cloth before handing it back to her, though. That slightest hint of shy uncertainty in their expression. The brief jolt of contact from their touching fingers. If she had been the sort to faint, she might have been in real trouble.

She knows they did not mean to imply that they wished to court her. She knows it. They can barely bring themselves to speak in her presence more often than not; nervous that some misstep might garner her disapproval, or possibly even her wrath. For all that they might fancy themselves enamored with her, some part of them is afraid, too. They kissed the tag to avoid offence, nothing more. 

But that knowledge had not made the offer any less enticing. Or petrifying.

And whatever Uthvir's reservations may be about forming any real relationship with her, they had not stopped them from making an offhand remark about the prospect of kissing her at some point in the indeterminable future.

She is aware that they likely meant it as a jest, but Aili found that she needed to excuse herself before she did something… Really _really_ stupid.

Like telling them that she doesn't want them to court her, because _she_ wants to be the one to court _them_ this time. Or kissing them. A lot. In the middle of her aunt's office where her father or grandfather or even, creators forbid, her _mother_ , might walk in on them.

But here in her room, she is safe from further mortification, and Uthvir is safe from… Well. Her. Aili is not entirely sure what her new family would put any paramour she might take through, as she is yet to have one in this lifetime. She is willing to bet that it would be unpleasant, though. And dangerous. A weakness in her armor for any negotiations and bargains she might press for. A rope for her grandmother to twist around her wrists. Or even her neck, if it came to that.

And there is still Falon'Din.

Yes. It would be much better to wait. Her uncle always seems to have at least one eye fixed on her, and if Uthvir is with her, his gaze will naturally shift to _them_ , and… She will not have that.

He will have to be dealt with in some way or another before she can make any serious moves in the direction of courtship. If they are even still interested by then. Which they likely won't be if she keeps having to act disinterested in them in order to maintain a reasonable amount of control over her feelings.

Aili heaves a deep sigh as she sinks down into the cushioned chair in front of her vanity, burying her face in her hands. All she ever seems to do in Elvhenan is wait. Wait to grow up. Wait for Falon'Din to make his move. Wait for a chance to save Glory. And none of those things had turned out especially well, in the end.

But Uthvir is alive, which is certainly something. Saving them from the initial horrors of Falon'Din's favor had been unavoidable, but at least she and Lavellan had kept them from Andruil's tender mercies. It is almost painful to see who they might have become without them. Friendly and smiling and sweet. And she has every intention of keeping them that way.

With another long exhale of breath, a bit more wistful this time, Aili glances down at the little slip of fabric still in her hand. It is roughly the size and shape of a large flower petal. Soft and silky and dyed to be a pale dusky rose pink. Her mother had pressed for something a bit more vibrant, but she had held firm, pointing out that she was hardly going to have a hard time getting people to look at her. The design of her dress is quite…voluminous. And between that and the hordes of gently rustling tags, it is a small miracle that she managed to escape after the parade at all.

The tag in her palm twitches, seeking to attach itself back to her dress. To get lost in the sea of its fellows. It will disappear at the end of the festival along with all the others, if she lets it. Which she finds herself…disinclined to allow.

The preserving magic for this sort of thing is a bit tricky. She's never attempted it on anything other than a few pressed flowers tucked between the pages of her favorite books, and she's not sure it will work exactly the same on fabric. She thinks it should hold, though, so long as she remembers to come back every so often and reinforce the spell.

The tag shivers and ripples slightly at the magic from her fingers, and when all is said and done, the color of it seems a littler darker than before, but that seems like a minor detail. Aili might have to wait a few more centuries for her romance. And all her patience might be in vain if Uthvir decides to pursue someone else in the interim. But at least she can have this. A memento of their regard, no matter how fleeting it may prove to be.

A single kiss.

On a whim, Aili digs out the special ink that she uses on certain letters to her aunt. The kind that disappears when dry, and only becomes visible again under the light of a specific spell. Not unlike the runes the Inquisition had found by veil fire all those years ago.

She turns the tag so that the side with her name on it is face down on the vanity. The cloth is a little difficult to write on, as that was certainly not its intended purpose, and the ink blots a bit at the last letter of their name. But she supposes that it will not matter, since no one else will even know it is there except her.

Aili waits until the ink is nearly dry, when Uthvir's name is almost impossible to see, before raising it to her mouth and gently pressing it to her lips.

"Ma sa'lath."

~

The door to her chambers opens suddenly just as she is sealing her little treasure away into a puzzle box Haninan had given her for her birthday a few decades ago. It took her six months to work out how to open the blasted thing, so she thinks it should be relatively safe in there. With a few extra spells over it, of course.

"Venavisimi," she greets with just a hint of admonishment in her tone, "I did not expect you of all people to forget to knock before entering someone's bedroom."

"My humblest apologies, My Lady," the captain of her personal guard pants, sounding a little put out himself and pausing for a moment to offer her a bow, "Your mother was rather adamant that you be located after your sudden disappearance."

"I hardly slunk off into the shadows with some unruly thug," she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, "I came to the tower to speak with my aunt. I told my mother earlier that I had no intention of remaining at the festivities for an extended period of time."

Aili takes a moment to glance over Vena's general state of dishevelment. Mussed hair, rumpled clothing, and what seems to be a few very distinct lipstick marks smeared beneath his ears. She snorts in amusement.

"I am sorry for depriving you of your… _fun_ ," she says with a faint smirk, "You were supposed to have the evening free, were you not?"

"I was," he huffs out, "but what could possibly be more fun than serving you, My Lady?"

"A great many things, I am certain," she answers dryly, briefly turning back to the box in front of her to finish placing the protective spells over it.

"And what have you go there, if I may be so bold to ask?" he wonders, leaning casually against one of the high-backed chairs on that side of the room.

"A box," Aili answers flatly. Venavisimi is good at his job and has served her loyally for many years. He is friendly and more than a little silly, and she has given him leave to be casual and honest with her on several occasions. It is not surprising that he might assume she would tell him about some small trifle or favor she had decided to hide away. But she finds that she is not inclined to share this with anyone.

"Ah. A secret, then," he surmises when he receives no further reply. Aili smiles a smile that does not reach her eyes, and Vena raises his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Alright, I'm dropping it. So long as it's not putting your life at risk, you can hide as many things in odd little boxes as you please. I won't tell."

"Speaking of telling," Aili says, getting to her feet and beginning the process of pulling the hundreds of pins out of her elaborate hairstyle, "Please inform my mother that I will be retiring for the evening. You can send a runner, if you are in any particular rush to get back to whatever… _festivities_ you were enjoying. You have my leave to return to your promised leisure time."

"As you say, My Lady," Vena replies with a slight inclination of his head, "Although, I feel like I should point out that your mother is likely to be somewhat displeased by this news. I believe she was hoping you might spend a bit more time with your grandparents."

"I will visit with them tomorrow, when I am well rested and out of this horrendous dress," Aili shrugs, "If she's still annoyed, I will simply promise to host a feast or a ball in her honor or something. That always cheers her up."

"I think…I will use different wording when conveying that message to your mother," Vena laughs, though he seems a bit exasperated, too. She wouldn't blame him, she's been a bit of a handful tonight.

"A wise strategy," she agrees blithely, "Now, I am afraid I need to ask you to leave. I need to change…"

~

It takes her a good twenty minutes to get out of all of her finery and sneak out through one of the small shifting exits from her room that only appear at certain timed intervals with the correct spell. She is dressed in the garb of a servant, but she still does not dare to let her hair lighten or her skin shift tones until she is well outside June's Tower. She ducks into a dark little alcove behind a shop to apply her vallaslin and consider her options.

Ess' seems like a good spot to land for the night. None of the higher-ranking followers who snagged her tags are likely to be lurking around there, and with any luck, Love will be out assisting with the festival. And, more to the point, she thinks she could stand to be a little drunk right about now.

She nods decisively to herself before shifting into the shape of a small golden fox, and trotting off down an alleyway in the direction of the Lower City.


	8. Kiss Fest #3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last of the Kiss Fest stories! Also written by Feynite.

By the time Uthvir gets to Ess’ tavern, they have rethought the scenario with Lady Aili and the kiss tag several times over. Almost to the point of what Squish would probably deem an ‘unhealthy fixation’.

They can’t help it, though. Whilst Arlathan might not go in for the Festival Kisses, there is evidence of people who had visited Sylaise’s lands for the celebration all over the place, now that they know to look for it. They had spotted Thenvunin heading down one of the main streets with several tags in his hands and a determined expression on his face, and several pink banners had been put up in the Pleasure District, with a few elves putting out signs to help offer ‘location services’ for people who were having troubles tracking down tag owners in the celebrating territories. Plus, the absence of any sort of spirits of Love, Affection, or Infatuation now carried the obvious implication that they were off elsewhere, doing other things, rather than just conveniently buzzing off for a change.

Uthvir is thinking that maybe Ess’ Love will be absent, too, and that gives them the idea to head for the tavern in the first place. Find a drink, and maybe someone to impart their woes onto. Squish has duties - actual Follower of June duties, not “duties” - and Haninan has gone off to wherever Haninan goes sometimes, and the General is busy again, which means Uthvir is fresh out of their usual willing ears and shoulders to cry on.

Ess’ tavern is busy. The doors are open, light and music pouring into the street, and the interior paintings are visible from the sidewalk. Which is against regulations, but seeing as how most of Sylaise’s people have their hands full at the moment, it’s probably a good time for it. An empty bottle is serving as a door stopper, and Uthvir is feeling just a tiny bit trepidatious - until they get inside, and find not a single pink tag or banner in sight.

Instead, there are a lot of lower-ranking Followers of Sylaise getting very, very drunk, by the looks of things.

The tables are crowded, and the bar is packed. Several elves are singing a song which Uthvir is not familiar with, but which seems to be about a high-ranking elf misunderstanding the rules of the kissing festival and having sex with everyone who returns one of their tags. Or that sounds like the punchline, anyway, Uthvir gets the impression that they have missed a few vital verses. The other half of the tavern looks like they are ready to be done with kissing and tags and festivals altogether, and Uthvir heads for that side, until they hear a familiar voice raised in protest.

“I don’t even _have_ any tags, now move that hand before you lose it.”

Turning, they catch sight of a familiar elf. Slightly built, fair-haired, with a stubborn set to her jaw and one hand resting on the hilt of a cheap knife. The elf bothering her just raises their hands and moves off with a shrug, clearly well into their cups, and murmuring something about ingratitude. Uthvir does not think he intends to push his luck any further, but they still make their way over.

“Easna!” they greet.

Meeting up with Easna always tends to produce a reaction. Today’s is ‘freezing up like a startled deer’, but under the circumstances, Uthvir doesn’t begrudge her some nerves. By the time they manage to get to where she is, her expression has morphed into something slightly pained, and the noise in the tavern has somehow gotten even worse. A few people jostle towards them, but Easna reaches over and takes their arm, and somehow or another they manage to get into one of the smaller tables.

“Uthvir, what are you doing here?” she asks them, leaning in closer to be heard beneath the din.

“Getting drinks, of course. Or meaning to,” they reply, taking stock of their friend. She looks rattled, on edge, and like she probably hasn’t even managed to get _one_ drink yet, let alone several. “What about you?”

The only answer they get is a shrug. Well, probably just trying for the same thing, then. Uthvir cannot help but feel glad, though. Easna is good company, a good listener, and they _had_ been looking for one, after all.

“Let me buy you one,” they suggest. “Keep my seat and I will go get us a bottle or two. Any requests?”

She bites her lip, and then lets out a long breath that they have no hope of actually hearing. She shakes her head ‘no’, though, so they nod in comprehension, and then head off to see what they can actually get at this point. Ess is at the bar, along with two of the tavern workers, running back and forth to get orders of food and drink and to mix and pour. Uthvir asks for a couple of bottles of whatever they can best spare, which earns them an almost grateful sigh and two large, dark brown jugs of ale. Not their favourite, but it will do, they think, as they weave deftly through the crowd and bring them back to the table.

Easna takes a long drink from hers, and Uthvir finds themselves inclined to follow suit.

“I am glad I ran into you,” they admit. “I was hoping for someone to talk to tonight.”

Easna’s brows knit, and she puts her drink down. She asks them something, but they cannot hear it, and after a moment, she lets out a frustrated breath and casts a sound bubble around them. The air shimmers just a bit. Immediately, the noise from the tavern drops by a half, down to a murmur that sounds more as if it is coming from the next room and not the one they are in.

Uthvir lets out an appreciative whistle.

“That is a _nice_ spell,” they note.

Easna swallows, and then shrugs.

“The General taught it to me. For…” she begins, and then waves a hand vaguely. Uthvir nods in understanding, though they are not quite sure how this spell would help with secrecy. It is entirely the sort to keep sound _out,_ rather than _in._ But then again, some of the structures down beneath the city get very loud, so. That is probably it.

“Well, it is certainly coming in handy now,” they note. They take another drink, and Easna fiddles with her own.

“Are you alright?” she asks them. “Is something wrong?”

They hesitate, and then let out a long sigh.

“Is it obvious?” they wonder.

“No,” she assures them. “I just… you normally dislike crowds, so… and you said you were looking for someone to talk to…”

Uthvir inclines their head in understanding.

“I just made a fool of myself in front of Lady Aili, that’s all,” they admit.

“O-oh?” Easna asks. The subject of Lady Aili tends to make her slightly uncomfortable. Uthvir has no idea if it is simply nervousness about discussing someone so highly ranked and influential, or genuine dislike, but they cannot imagine what reason Easna would have to genuine dislike Aili, so. It may even be just awkwardness. Uthvir is not secretive about their regard for her, after all.

So they only take a moment more before they begin to spill the whole story. Lady Aili, in the General’s office, in her dress covered in tags. Hiding from anyone who might solicit a kiss. Uthvir catching one, like a clueless dolt, even after they had heard that entire explanation, and then offering it back in such a mess of awkward missteps that they had accidentally proposed a courtship somehow. And then offended the Lady so badly with their final attempt at levity, that she had left in a great hurry.

When they finish, Easna frowns a little.

“I doubt you _offended_ her,” she says.

“Why else would she leave in such a hurry?” Uthvir counters. “It makes sense. She wanted to avoid kisses, and I managed to turn the entire conversation into precisely the sort of thing she had gone to such trouble to get away from.”

“She was hardly trying to keep away from _you,_ Uthvir,” Easna insists. “There are probably a lot of elves who know her mother obliges her to attend these things, and have long established habits of taking advantage of it. You catching her tag was probably just… a surprise. And then you were all charming about it… I bet she just had no idea what to do with you.”

They regard their friend for a moment, and then let out a soft chuckle at her suggestion. Easna looks back down towards her drink.

“You think I seem charming?” they ask, oddly flattered.

“No,” she says. “I take it back. You are just a _handful.”_

With a sigh, Uthvir leans against her shoulder. When Easna does not shrug them off, they even let themselves slump a little. The drink is starting to warm them, now. Not powerfully, but enough to take the edge off of all the nerves that the day’s atmosphere had built up. Well, so, they botched yet another interaction with Lady Aili - done is done. She is a kind sort. She will probably forgive them for it, if they get a chance to ask.

And having drinks with Easna, even in a crowded tavern, is more cathartic than they might have expected.

“So what about you?” they ask, making themselves more comfortable as they lean up against her, and take another sip of their drink. They let themselves actually focus on the flavour, this time. Oddly melon-ish, for an ale, but not unpleasant.

“Hm?” Easna replies, distractedly.

“What has driven you to drink this fine evening?” they clarify. “Wait, let me guess - the lower city filled up with drunken festival-goers who had been rejected by their paramours, looking for easy targets to take some frustration out on, and you wisely holed up in hear with everyone else who is eager to avoid that nonsense until the peacekeepers clear them off?”

Easna is quiet for a moment.

Then she lets out a breath, and brushes the back of their hand with her fingertips.

“I actually did go to the festival in the territories earlier today,” she admits. “Just for a little bit. I lost one tag and… someone I wanted to kiss picked it up. But I couldn’t do it.”

Uthvir blinks, and shifts to look at her.

“Could not kiss them?” they clarify.

She nods, and does not quite meet their gaze. Instead taking another long drink.

“Why not?” they wonder.

“…A lot of reasons,” she says. “There is some history there, but it is complicated.”

“You lost your nerve,” they guess.

She shakes her head, though. And then shrugs.

“It was not about nerve,” she says. “Though I probably had none. I just did not want to take advantage of the situation, in the end. I would rather kiss someone who is acting entirely of their own volition, than steal something I want just because of some silly festival providing an excuse.”

Uthvir feels an odd prickle of something at her admission. At length, they manage to identify the sentiment as _admiration._ Easna’s opinion of the festival seems to be fairly in keeping with their own. And her troubles, in fact, also seem to be quite like their own. They put down their empty drink, and sit in companionable silence with her for a while, then. Enjoying their little bubble, and watching the other tavern patrons laugh and dance and sing and make drunken fools of themselves.

After a moment, feeling loose and bold and comfortable, Uthvir taps Easna’s shoulder so that she turns her face towards them. And then they lean in, and press a chaste kiss to her lips.

Her eyes widen, and her mouth goes a little bit slack as they pull back again.

“There,” they say. “I may not be your festival elf, but I have no ticket, and that was entirely of my own volition. Now we have both gotten a kiss.”

They only consider that the move might have been wholly unwelcome in the beat of silence that follows.

But then Easna puts her fingers to her lips, rather than her knife. And her blush, in the tavern light, looks quite fetching.

“Thank you,” she says.

Uthvir grins.

At least the day ended out on a high note, they think.


	9. Garden Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scurv wrote this one! <3 <3

Serahlin works the delicate jewelry into her Lady’s hair, minding not to tug on the hair or to tangle the thread with the hair. Despite the care needed to avoid tangling or discomfort, the piece is simple - merely a thin golden thread-like chain that is woven into the hair and wrapped around the head. It is joined by two other magical flame treated golden threads with iridescent sheens of aubergine and cobalt. It is a simpler trend set by Serahlin’s Lady as a rebuff to her mother’s increasingly intricate hair pieces for the last few years. The Lady Aili had apparently had enough of the mounting complexities when she had returned from a repose in the countryside. 

“It is too much! Just give me a ribbon,” she had declared one morning when Serahlin had arrived with three stylists to fix her for the day’s activities. The Lady had always brushed against her mother’s trends. Serahlin had initially feared the style rebellion but incredibly, it was well-received. Even Sylaise herself had been pleased with her daughter’s appearance. So now there is a trend of a simpler style, though it quickly elevated itself from fabric ribbons to metal threads. 

The gowns had followed the hair trend, opting for easy silhouettes with softer embroidery and easy transparency. Serahlin herself bedecked herself in a soft pink gown that doesn’t cling to her body, but when she moves, it flows around her figure so that it almost feels she is wearing a night-shift. It’s surprisingly provocative. The low back certainly helps. 

Aili is dressed in a gown of a similar cut, though hers is off the shoulder and is a lavender and sky-blue ombre gown that almost looks like water that was poured over her and stayed fixed as a dress. 

They are preparing for a garden party to celebrate the creation of a new flowering tree. The tree creates flowers in a host of pastel colors, giving the tree a soft, rainbow appearance. The dress code is specifically to compliment the tree, or in Serahlin’s case, to compliment but not outshine her Lady’s compliment to the tree. Not that Aili would care, Serahlin thinks. Still, it’s better to not step on the toes.

Aili’s shoulder slump for a moment and while her emotions are kept close to her, Serahlin can tell when a melancholy particular to the Lady starts to affect her.

“I heard a rumor,” Serahlin says, still at her task, “that the arborist is actually a rather morose fellow and had intended for the tree to be all black and dark purple.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, but he crossbred with the wrong tree and ended up with a pastel, happy looking tree.” Serahlin finishes with the hair jewelry and shifts away to grab the perfume. She spritzes it lightly by Aili’s neck and back, waving the air so that it isn’t so strong.

“Sometimes the best laid plans go awry, but beautiful things are still possible from them. It’s rather poetic, don’t you think?” Serahlin continues to babble and though there is little input from Aili, she sees her shoulders slowly begin to relax. Serahlin doesn’t understand the melancholy that plagues her Lady, but she does her best to alleviate it or distract her from it. 

They finish preparations and walk together to the Eluvian that will take them to the garden party. It’s in Arlathan’s high garden, elevated from the ground so that the tree may be on display for its prescribed lifespan, or until the trends shift - whichever came first. Guards follow Serahlin and Aili through the mirror. They exit onto a beautiful platform covered in soft grass. Two other attendants are waiting for them on the platform and they fall into step behind Aili and Serahlin.

“Harmony is going to petition for a child soon,” Serahlin whispers to Aili as they walk down a verdant path laden with blooming pastel flowers.

“Oh! I will need to put in a recommendation then,” Aili says, suddenly smiling. Good, good, Serahlin thinks as they approach the table where Sylaise and her husband are seated…as well as June’s sister. Upon spying Aili and her contingent, the General rises from her seat. There is a shifting and Serahlin spies one of June’s who Serahlin knows is sweet on Aili. They are beautiful in their own way, though they seem to hide it or contradict it by covering themselves in spikes and in varying shades of red - no matter the fashions. 

Uthvir smiles at Aili and inclines their head as do the rest of the soldiers and the General. 

“Daughter! I am so glad you could join us!” Sylaise purrs, rising from her seat to glide over to hug Aili. Serahlin drops into a low curtsy, averting her eyes from Sylaise as is proper.

“It’s good to see you, Mother,” Aili says, kissing her mother’s cheeks. 

The luncheon goes well. Aili takes her seat beside Sylaise and all of the attendants stand back, waiting to be called upon. Serahlin stands next to Tasallir and while they don’t speak, it’s nice to see him again. Uthvir and June’s attendants stand on the opposite end of Aili and Sylaise’s attendants. It gives Serahlin a perfect view to see how Uthvir’s eyes always seem to slide back to Aili and linger there a little longer than necessary. 

After the luncheon, everyone disperses to walk through the gardens and to enjoy the arborist’s beautiful work. Serahlin leads Aili’s attendants to her side, but Aili turns and waves them off.

“Enjoy it yourselves, I wish to be alone.”

Serahlin would frown if it was polite. But alas, she is bound by her lady’s wishes. She bows and selects a different route. The tree they are celebrating is gigantic, its great branches reach out over almost the entirety of the garden. Flowers drip down from the arms in soft cascades. A breeze rustles through the leaves and soft petals dance down only to be immediately replaced by regenerative magicks. 

It’s truly beautiful. Serahlin has always enjoyed gardening and arborist arts. She once considered it for a career, though being a stylist turned attendant has afforded her greater status than being a gardener ever could. Still, she enjoys these places immensely and wishes she could share this with Adannar. This is an elite level garden party, however, and even if he was in attendance he would not be allowed at these high tiers so close to the actual tree. There is a party happening on the lower levels of the garden, though it’s for the lower classes. Sometimes Serahlin wishes she could join them, be just a little freer, but this position is good. She’s afforded much, she can enjoy some of the finest things the empire has to offer. It’s good.

Serahlin is lost in her thought, glancing down at the party happening below, so she doesn’t notice the person walking toward her, trying to avoid her. She bumps into them and they grab her, stopping her before she tears her dress on a rather poorly placed spike.

“Oh!”

“I apologize, I tried to avoid -

“Oh, it’s you,” Serahlin says, her gaze dropping down to Uthvir’s. The smile they give her is dashing though sharp and she quickly extricates herself from them.

“The fault is mine, I was not paying attention to where I was going.” She fixes her hair and they take a step back. They are about to walk away when a thought occurs to her.

“She went down the eastern path,” she says softly. They stop and turn their head towards her. She doesn’t let them reply, “She is as lovely as she appears, and deserves happiness more than most.” With that, she leaves them, returning to her thoughts and her stroll. 

An hour later, she is crossing a moss covered bridge and spies her Lady below her. She is not alone, but rather accompanied by the red-armored Uthvir. Her pace is slow and they are matching it. A smile graces her features and Serahlin smiles herself at the sight. It’s about time.


	10. Garden Party- Reprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The follow up I wrote to Scurv's chapter. :D

The garden feels like a dream.

Hundreds of pastel flowers drift down in gentle cascades from the enormous tree they had all gathered to admire. Distant chords of gentle music drift between the boughs like a lover's sigh. The material of her gown feels as light as a cloud and smooth as water, barely whispering against her skin anytime a breeze brushes by. Her feet are bare, save for a few tasteful accessories made by one of her favorite attendants’ husband, and she can feel the grass tickling her toes as she strays slightly from the winding stone path.

And Uthvir is dressed in red.

Red armor with spiked shoulders. The gear is lighter, and the spikes are fewer, as they are a midranking scout and not a high ranking hunter. Or the Inquisitor. Or her spouse. But still, the similarities are enough to make her heart ache. As they always are.

Aili leaves her attendants and seeks solitude as soon as she is able. Trying to find some scrap of calm. Serahlin looks unhappy to leave her, and she is almost certain that both she and Venavisimi are hovering around the garden somewhere. Keeping an eye on her. Ready to swoop in with their various forms of mothering, even as her own mother blithely sips Plumfire Wine with her father. 

She heaves a sigh. They mean well. Even Sylaise, despite the fact that she is not especially good at it. 

She lets her mind drift back to the first world she had been born into, gazing up through the twisting branches of the gargantuan tree. It makes her think of the Heart Trees the City Elves used to keep in the center of their alienages. Perhaps this tree will start a trend that will eventually trickle down into the tradition for the ones she remembers. She had not seen many of them, but she tried to make an appearance in the alienage whenever she went to a human city on Inquisition business. They had all been terrible, and all she could see was her father's eyes looking back her from the e of every hungry child.

She had tried to do what she could for the people living there. It had never seemed like enough.

Unbidden, another memory rises in her mind. Wide glassy eyes staring up at her from where the little boy had been struck to the ground, his features twisted in shock and horror, streaked with blood and dirt. The distant music of the garden seems to morph into a symphony of screams ringing in her ears. Her heartbeat pounds furiously against her ribcage. She can smell smoke on the air, and- _Sera_. Where is Sera? She should be around here somewhere. They have to go. Have to warn her Friends. Before-

"Lady Aili?"

She gasps, surprised, but not completely pulled form her thoughts. The figure before her is discordant with the scene that had grasped her mind, but not with the memories of her past life. Sharp and bright and strong. Dressed all in red from head to toe.

A dream she has had so many times.

" _What are you doing here, my love_?" she wonders.

Uthvir tilts their head, brow furrowing in puzzlement. It is only then that she takes note of their vallaslin. Copper instead of scarlet. June instead of Andruil. She lets out a long breath.

"I apologize for startling you, my lady," they offer with a slight bow, "If you were asking me to leave, however, I am afraid I could not understand you."

"It is I who must apologize," Aili insists with a shake of her head, "I was deep in thought, and I have been studying languages with a few spirits lately whilst in the Dreaming. I must have slipped into one of their strange tongues."

She hopes that they have not had occasion to hear General Lavellan speak Common very much.

"Languages?" they ask, looking genuinely curious.

"Ah, of course," Aili says, trying to think of how best to explain it, "Our empire is vast, as I'm certain you are aware. And while all of the People may speak to one another, different regions may pronounce things in a different way. And different areas use different vernacular to describe the same things. Surely you must have noticed as much while creating maps for my father."

"I have," they agree easily.

"Well, it is a bit like that, only… _more_ ," she tells them, "People who are not Elvhen may speak to each other in a way so different that we may not understand them at all. But we may _learn_ to understand them, if we care to."

"That is very interesting, my lady," they commend, "I did not know that there was more than one way for People to speak to one another. Or that people who were not People could really speak at all."

"I know," she sighs, "I am not certain what purpose my grandmother sees in closing us off so entirely from other cultures. Well…I can, but it is not a subject to be broached at a garden party."

"Of course," they reply with a respectful nod of their head, "I thank you for indulging my ignorance, Lady Aili. And I apologize again for disturbing your thoughts. I was not certain that it would be appropriate to approach you, but you seemed…distressed. It was presumptuous of me to imagine I could be of assistance. I will leave you to your walk."

They offer her another sweeping bow, something like disappointment clinging to their aura. They turn to leave, and the word is past her lips before she has time to think better of it.

"Stay!"

Uthvir freezes instantly in their tracks. The emotions in the air around them are colored so strongly with surprise that she cannot tell if it is a positive reaction or not. She swallows thickly.

"F-forgive me," she fumbles for a moment, pulling her own emotions back towards herself tightly, "It was not meant as a command. You do not have to stay if you do not wish to. I imagined that a solitary walk would be peaceful, but… My thoughts make for poor companions, at times. I would be grateful for a distraction." 

"And how would you have me distract you, my lady?" they wonder with an eyebrow waggle and perhaps a touch of blush to their cheeks.

Aili laughs despite herself, grateful that she had shifted the color of her skin a few shades darker than usual today as she feels her own ears burn. It is so good to smile with them again. Even if things can never be the same.

"I am certain you must have heard all sorts of spurious rumors and fantastical tales about me," she says, arching a brow at them.

"I have heard nothing but good things about you, Lady Aili," they attempt to assure her, "Would you have me recount them?"

"Perhaps another day," she snorts, waving a hand dismissively, "I know my own story well enough, even the bits that other people have seen fit to make up. But I do not know much of yours. Your name is Uthvir. You are a cartographer and a scout. A follower of my father's and a close associate of my aunt's. And…you are also the only midranking elf at this gathering."

"Ah," they reply eloquently. "Well. You see. It is only proper for someone of the General's standing to attend this sort of function with…an attendant. Or two. And she does not really keep regular servants on hand for that kind of thing. I believe she finds them…'fussy'."

"Like me?" Aili wonders with a faint smile.

"I- uh, meant no offense, of course," Uthvir flounders briefly, and Aili softens.

It probably isn't fair to keep teasing them.

"And you did not cause any, I assure you," she promises, "Being constantly surrounded by people waiting on me…would not be my first choice. If I had one."

"What would be your first choice?" Uthvir blinks.

She gives them a long look, emotions still held tightly in her grasp. In another life, her eyes would probably give away everything. But she is better at guarding secrets now, and they do not know her well enough to read her heart by facial expression alone. Luckily.

"…I believe we were talking about you," she says softly. 

"Right," Uthvir nods, sensing their mistake and quickly changing course, "Well, when the General has to come to one of these sorts of parties, she usually just selects someone she trusts to sort of…fill in. As an attendant. Someone she knows who would be 'appropriate' for the setting. …Or the company."

It is their turn to give her a long look, and Aili tries her level best to pretend like she does not notice it half as much as she does. They are still so young. And an entanglement with her… Would be complicated. As much as she might want it.

"And are _you_ 'appropriate', Uthvir?" she asks, her tone light and teasing.

"Only when necessary, my lady," they reply in kind, a smirk pulling at one corner of their mouth.

"Is that why you decided to wear armor to a garden party?" she continues playfully.

Their face falls a little at her question.

"I…admit, I was not certain what would be suitable," they tell her frankly, "I chose something bright, because I do not have many…soft things. I do not think a gown like yours would suit me very well."

Aili frowns slightly, reaching a hand out to touch theirs, but thinking better of it at the last moment. There is an awkward pause between them that seems to drag on for several minutes, and she dearly wishes that she could curse and groan and act as annoyed with all this posturing as she feels. It is endlessly frustrating that the difference in their social standing makes a casual conversation so difficult, and she can't help but be angry with herself for forgetting about it.

"I did not mean to sound disparaging," she says finally, apology shining in her eyes, "I am all too aware of the silly rank restrictions regarding clothing and adornments. And I would never think less of you for choosing to wear something you felt comfortable in. My mother's fashion trends do not tend to suit _most_ people, I should think. Speaking as someone who has been frequently afflicted with them."

"Oh, but I should think that they must always suit _you_ , my lady," they declare boldly, a touch of color rising in their cheeks again, "I am certain that you always look lovely, no matter what you wear."

"It is kind of you to say so," Aili replies gently, her gaze dropping down to the path.

"But you disagree?" Uthvir wonders, sounding surprised.

"I… Dressing a to suit current trends is more of an obligation in my family than a personal interest," she confesses. "My attendants all have more of a head for that sort of thing than I do. I am certain a large portion of my loveliness must be credited to them."

"Your attendants did not make you _kind_ ," Uthvir practically blurts out, looking mortified as soon as the words have left their mouth. 

Aili blinks.

"No…I suppose they did not," she answers slowly. She looks them over again before offering them a smile. "Is that my reputation in all the rumors you have heard about me?"

"No!" they insist, before seeming to think better of it and backtracking, "Well, yes! For the most part. But it is also something I have learned from observation. And your attendant, the one in pink who told me which path you took, was adamant that you should be happy."

"Was she now?" Aili laughs. "I suppose this was not merely a chance meeting in the garden, then?"

"Erm," Uthvir fumbles guiltily, caught outright.

"Come," Aili grins, beckoning them with a gesture, "Walk with me, if you would. I am still interested in hearing more about you and your adventures. And it would not do to foil one of Serahlin's artful schemes."

~

Aili pulls Serhalin aside once they get back to her chambers in Sylaise's crystal palace.

"Serahlin, I know you meant well, but I must ask you not to encourage Uthvir if they are at any more of the gatherings we attend," she tells her, voice gentle, but expression firm.

"I am deeply sorry, my lady," Serahlin rushes to apologize, "If they have offended you in some way, I will _personally_ ensure that-"

"It was not that," Aili promises, letting out a long breath and running a hand over her face. "Uthvir is… They are only midranking. But even if they were not, any attachment I formed with them would have…complications. I cannot casually discard lovers in the same fashion as my mother or my Aunt Andruil. I would not wish to put someone I cared for in danger, and my position would inherently do that. My family is…"

She trails off, face twisting into something pained.

"I…had not considered that, my lady," Serahlin admits with a slight bow of her head, "I only thought that it would be nice if someone could make you happy. Even for a little while."

Aili reaches over and squeezes her hand.

"I know."

"If I may be so bold as to ask, is this why you have never pursued a romantic partner for as long as I have been in your service?" Serahlin wonders.

"One of many," Aili confirms with a smile full of sorrows and secrets.

"Surely, you do not intend to hold yourself away from the prospect of romance forever, my lady?" Serahlin frowns. "Not if you find someone you believe you might love?"

"I…will cross that bridge when I come to it. If I come to it," Aili sighs, pressing her eyes closed for a moment, "But even if I found someone, I imagine that our relationship would need to be handled…delicately."

"I…understand, my lady," Serahlin nods respectfully.

"You are a good friend, Serahlin. Even when you are being nosy," Aili tells her fondly, leaning up to press a kiss to her cheek, "And…thank you. For today. It _did_ make me happy. Even if I could not keep it."

"You will find a means to keep it someday, my lady," Serahlin says confidently, "Even if that Uthvir is not the one who brings it to you. And I will help you, if I can."

Aili smiles.

"I hope you are right."


	11. The More Things Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> read some smut that kinda squicked me, so i decided the world needed more good smut instead. IDK if that's what this is, but I tried. 
> 
> Big Time Jump to when Aili and Uthvir actually get together in this AU
> 
> Happy Birthday <3

It is early evening, and the sky is several shifting shades of dusky purple through the tall windows of Sylaise’s country villa. The estate is far too rustic and rural for the Evanuris to ever spend much time here, but it has become her daughter’s primary residence. Arlathan is too loud for Aili, more often than not. Bright and bustling and sad. Out here, she can hear the wind in the trees. She can dress in styles that suit her own tastes instead of catering to her mother’s. She can be more of her true self, without a thousand eyes watching her at any given moment.

She can be with the person she loves.

They have not been together long, in the grand scheme of things. A little more than a year, which is practically a trifle for a race of immortals. And, truth be told, they have not had many opportunities to actually spend time with one another throughout all of this.

When they are not out on a scouting mission, Uthvir lives in her father’s tower in the city. It makes them easier to visit than if they had belonged to another Evanuris, but a trip to Arlathan generally has Aili swept up in her mother’s menagerie of inescapable social events. She could invite them along as her guest, of course, but that would give rise to a host of new and infinitely more dangerous problems.

She will not make them a target. Not for her conniving grandmother, who has been looking for ways to manipulate her since it became clear that she was going to have a significant role in how Sylaise deals with politics. And _certainly_ not for Falon’Din, who still hungers for his lost Glory, and would practically salivate at the chance to lash out at her and reclaim his former prize in one fell swoop.

When she plays the part of Easna with her aunt’s rebels, they can be together, but fighting monsters, rescuing slaves, and belly-crawling through sewer muck is not exactly the most romantic of settings. Not that it has _stopped_ them from getting handsy with each other on numerous occasions, but there has never been an opportunity for much more. Touches and kisses and letter upon letter. Dozens of gifts passed furtively through trusted messengers. A few scattered dances at the city’s yearly festivals before being swept away to other partners.

Aili wants more.

More than brushing fingers over clothing and frenzied lips burning against skin in whatever random dark corner they can find for themselves. More than words on a page. More than vague promises of 'someday'.

Passion is all well and good, and she still has plenty of it stored up after all these years, but there is more to love than an inherent need to rip each other's clothes off. She wants to be soft with them. She wants to take her time. She has waited so long to have their heart again, and now she wants to savor it. 

Uthvir was the one who had suggested this place for a rendezvous, and for that she is grateful. It is always better when they are the one asking for things. The disparity of their rank still hangs between them awkwardly in some places. They do not yet know that she was born in a cramped aravel on a pile of furs, and not surrounded by splendor, or that her mother is not her mother, or that there is almost nothing in this world she would not do to keep them out of harm's way.

Aili will explain it all at some point. She wants to. She _needs_ to, even though it almost feels selfish, in a way. But for now, it is enough to simply be together however they can be. And to spoil them a bit, when she can get away with it. 

The official story is that Uthvir is working here in their capacity as a cartographer to update the maps on the region surrounding the estate so that there can be discussions on how the irrigation to the farms in the vicinity might be improved. Typically, a midranking servant of June would not be invited to stay at the villa, and even if they were, they would not be offered lodging anywhere outside of the servants' wing. But it is common enough knowledge that Uthvir is one of General Lavellan's people, and Lady Aili has always been close with her aunt, so it does not raise too many eyebrows.

Besides, most of the people who work as her attendants out here are well-versed in discretion. A lot of them are cast-offs that Sylaise had grown tired of looking at for one reason or another. Lady Aili had offered them the choice to come work for her out in the country instead of being toss to the wolves of the Pleasure District. Their gratitude makes them loyal. And generally quiet about their Lady's private business.

Uthvir had arrived while she was still in the bath. It was tempting to call them in to join her, but she thinks that is something that can wait for a little while longer. They will be out here for a few weeks at least, so for once, they have the time to spare.

She joins them in her sitting room afterwards in a floor-length silken nightgown in her favorite shade of blue, and a lacey white robe that trails behind her like a gauzy cloud. Her hair is still damp, pinned up off her neck, but curling about her face regardless, and her eyes on them are warm. She has dropped all the alterations to her features that she generally wears in public. No makeup. No magic. She only looks like herself; the only way she wants them to see her.

The open book in their hands suggests that they must have been reading, but the expression on their face when they glance up at her gives the impression of someone who might have forgotten the entirety of what they had just been looking at. Their cheeks darken slightly as the air sizzles around them with such obvious attraction that it would be considered rude under normal circumstances. Aili finds it _extremely_ gratifying.

She returns their interest with a brush of warm affection, her lips curling up in a fond smile as she settles herself beside them on the couch. 

"I have missed you," she says, offering them her hands as they set their book down on the nearby table, "Are you tired after your journey? Are you hungry? Would you like to bathe as well?"

"I am fine," Uthvir assures her, running their thumbs along the backs of her knuckles, "It is not such a long trip through the crossroads from here to Arlathan. Besides, just now I think…I do not want to be anywhere that I could not see your face."

Aili laughs, bringing their hands to her mouth to kiss them.

"If my face is all you are interested in seeing, there is an entire gallery of paintings my mother insisted I sit for over the years," she grins at them, "I don't see the point in getting them now, as I have long since reached my majority, but every time she finds a new artist she likes, I get dragged into the city to sit on a stool in some ridiculous dress or something."

"I would be very interested in seeing any rendition of you, My Lady," Uthvir says, before waggling their eyebrows at her playfully, "Although, I am certain that none of them could hold a candle to the original."

She cups their face in her hands and draws them into a kiss both slow and tender.

" _Aili,_ " she breathes into their mouth as their lips finally part, and her tone is nearly pleading. She leans her forehead against theirs lightly, her eyes still pressed tightly shut. "When it's just us, I don't want to stand on ceremony. I don't want to be the daughter of an Evanuris. I only want to be yours."

Uthvir swallows thickly.

"Aili," they echo softly, as she kisses them again. They repeat it over and over, and she rewards them with her lips. Her hands roam over the bare skin of their arms, and they mirror her movements, tracing light paths across her collarbones with the sharp tips of their nails. She shivers slightly in response, smiling at them with hooded eyes.

"Help me with my hair?" she requests.

Uthvir obligingly fetches a silver comb from her vanity in the next room and returns to sit behind her on the sofa a moment later. With deft fingers, they carefully slide the numerous pins from her head. Her hair tumbles gently down her back in pale golden waves, heavy with the sweet scent of the lavender soaps from her bath.

When all her tresses have been freed, Uthvir begins running the comb through them gently. They seem to have had practice with this, but Aili does not let her mind linger too long on how they might have come by such experience. The feel of their hands in her hair is soothing, and blissfully domestic. She finds herself leaning back towards them without much thought, eyes sliding shut as she begins to hum quietly to herself.

“You know, if I had been able to spend a little more time with you before, I might have been able to guess your identity all on my own,” Uthvir smiles, pressing a kiss up beneath her ear and smoothly tugging her robe farther down her shoulders, baring more of her neck, “Not many people hum to themselves when they are relaxed. When they are happy, maybe. Typically, bursting into song seems to be linked with exuberance instead of calm. ”

Aili lets out a laugh that almost sounds like a sigh.

“I suppose you are right,” she says, her breath hitching slightly as they more or less abandon the task of combing her hair in favor of nibbling their way down the side of her throat, “When I was very young, my mother always used to sing to herself when she was content. She was never particularly exuberant about anything. I must have picked up the habit from her without realizing.”

"…Lady Sylaise must have been quite different when she was younger," Uthvir notes carefully, briefly pausing in their ministrations.

Aili makes a noncommittal hum, raising a hand to stroke their head, guiding them back to her. They oblige, but go slowly. Still seemingly concerned about a misstep somewhere. She shifts further into their embrace, nearly sitting in their lap. Encouraging.

"We were all different then," a gasp breaks past her lips as Uthvir's hands find their way to her breasts, kneading them gently through the thin cool material of her nightgown and rolling her nipples between their fingers, "But she taught me- _ah -_ taught me that jubilation does not have to be loud. That, sometimes, the quiet moments are the ones that hold to most perfect reflection of our happiness."

"I do not want the happiness of this moment to be silent," Uthvir confesses, their voice a low rasp in her ear as their left hand slides down her stomach with obvious intent.

"No," Aili pants out in agreement.

But when their hand reaches the point of interest between her thighs, it is Uthvir who makes an unexpected sound.

"Oh."

They pause for a moment, but they do not move their hand away. Although their previous romantic encounters have never gotten very far in terms of intimacy, Aili has never bothered to change her shape when they had touched her. Uthvir had always assumed that she was either unable or uninterested in having 'outward' set genitals for such proceedings. Clearly, that was a mistaken presumption.

It is not a problem, precisely, as Uthvir has had more than their fair share of cock-wielding bedfellows, but it does raise a few questions about what is going where. There are some things that they are…less than comfortable with. But they do not want to refuse her out of hand, either.

"This is an unexpected development," they note casually, lightly running their hand over the length of her cock in a not-quite tease, "Though, not at all unwelcome. Did you have any… _specific_ desires you were seeking to quench this evening?"

" _Yes_ ," Aili admits with a hiss, reflexively jerking her hips, seeking the dizzying contradiction of friction and the smooth glide of silk against their hand. She regains herself after a few seconds, dropping her head back onto their shoulder with a long exhale of breath. "This time… This first time, I want to be… I want… I want _you_ , please."

Uthvir hesitates. Barely the span of a few heartbeats, but enough for Aili to notice and carefully pull away from them. Her face is slightly flushed and the burgeoning erection between her legs is apparent beneath the blue silk of her sleepwear, but her expression is serious and sincere.

"You can say no," she assures them, "You can always say no, if you need to. If you want to. Whatever the reason. My regard for you will not change. This is… Well, to be frank, to do things this way…is not my usual preference for this sort of thing. So, if you are not of a mind, it is no great loss."

"If it is not your preference, then why would you want our first time to be this way?" Uthvir wonders, genuinely puzzled.

"Because…I want it to be different," Aili tells them slowly, pressing her eyes closed as though struggling with something briefly before looking back at them again and mustering up a smile.

"Different than what?" Uthvir blinks.

"Than anyone else," Aili says, trying not to let her sorrow bleed out into the air. She wants this to be for them, and only them. No ghosts. No regrets. No overlapping with memories of things long lost.

They look like they are not quite sure what to make of that, but they recover themselves quickly enough, pulling a smirk from somewhere.

"Alright," they tell her, with an air of mostly genuine bravado, "If new and unique experiences are what My L- my Aili, is after, then who am I to deny her?"

She touches their cheek, leaning in and kissing them again. Soft and deep and full of promise.

"You are the person who has caught my attention, my affection, and my heart, that's who," she smiles.

Their ears pink just slightly, and she almost wants to forget the whole thing and simply pull them into her arms and snuggle them until it is time for them to return to Arlathan. It is truly unfair that the first life she knew them in they got to be so beautiful and charming that she hardly knew what to do with herself, and in this life they are just… _adorable_.

She really has no defense against it.

Aili lightly tugs them up from the coach, guiding them as they traverse the short distance between her sitting room and her bedchamber. The two of them move together in a playful waltz, stepping close for a kiss or a teasing brush of fingers, before darting away again, pulling the other one after. Aili divests them of some of their more superfluous bits of clothing, belts and sashes and arm braces, but she does not try for more; uncertain of where their boundaries are.

For her own part, by the time they reach the bed, she has completely lost her outer robe, and the top of her nightdress is pooled around her waist. Uthvir sweeps in for one last hungry kiss, biting lightly at her lips as their hands move to her breasts again. Sharp nails flicking over the sensitive peaks until she gasps into their mouth and falls back to sit heavily on the mattress.

"I could eat you up," they pant out, hands still reach out for her.

"You could," Aili agrees, catching their left wrist in her hand to halt them momentarily.

She brings it to her lips. A gentle brush against their pulse point.

"But will you come here and let me touch you instead?" she asks.

Uthvir's eyebrows have nearly vanished into their hairline, and it seems as though they might have forgotten how to breathe, but they manage a faint nod. Sinking down onto the bed beside her as though their legs have lost all power. Still staring at her in mild awe as her fingers slide from their wrist to their thigh, gliding meaningfully over the fabric of their trousers.

"May I?"

"Please do," Uthvir smirks, leaning back on their elbows in obvious invitation.

"Just the pants, or…everything?" Aili checks as her hands move to undo fastenings.

"Is this a typical line of questioning for people you invite to your bed?" Uthvir wonders with a faint snort.

"I have not invited anyone to my bed in many hundreds of years," Aili tells them seriously, but then she makes a face, considering whether or not she is making things more formal than they need to be under the circumstances. "It's…not a bad thing, to be thorough, is it? I just wanted you to feel comfortable…"

Uthvir looks a little awestruck by her reply, and also maybe like they would like to kick themselves a bit for poking fun at her. By way of an answer, and perhaps an apology, they nearly rip the clasps of their vest open to rid themselves of it. Their undershirt quickly joins it on the floor a moment later. And then they are half naked on her bed, shivering just a bit at the realization, but strangely somewhat determined, too.

"I feel comfortable with you," they tell her, and they nearly sound defiant about it.

"I am glad to hear it," Aili responds earnestly, pressing forward to kiss them again as her hand slips into the open front of their trousers and under their smalls to find them already warm and slick and waiting for her. Uthvir gasps into her mouth at the firm slide of her fingers against them, arousal spiking in the air almost painfully, and she has to remind herself to go slowly. They are prone to over stimulation, and there is no need to rush things. "But let us see if we can make you more than comfortable, yes?"

"More…than comfortable?" They parrot back through labored pulls of breath as she continues stroking them gently.

"Hm," Aili agrees, tipping her forehead against theirs, "I think I would like to see you so sated that you are practically melting into my bed."

She presses her lips to the corner of their mouth.

"Would that be acceptable to you?"

They pull her into a fierce kiss in lieu of an answer, one arm wrapped behind her neck while the other reaches down to touch her in return. They fall backwards onto the bed together, not quite chest to chest, but close and clinging all the same. Each of them trying to keep a rhythm to the pleasurable motions of their hands while simultaneously being distracted in the best kind of way.

Aili is more than content with basking in the glorious jumble of it, right up until Uthvir's clever fingers finally find their way beneath her nightgown and take her directly in hand.

"W-wait," she gasps out, halting both of them dead in their tracks.

"Apologies, I-" Uthvir begins, but she stops their words with a brief kiss and a headshake.

"You really really have nothing to be sorry about," she promises, " _Really_. I am just…less used to this shape than my usual one, and if it is going to be good for anything later on, we are going to have to make use of some…some 'supplies' that I procured for us."

"Oh?" Uthvir asks, looking intrigued.

It is Aili's turn to have her ears pink.

"I…I confess, my experience with shopping the Pleasure District in Arlathan is…limited," she tells them sheepishly, "I tried to explain that I was looking for…something along the lines of a basic tool set, I suppose. I asked them to keep things simple, so we could…we could figure out the things that we enjoyed together."

She had also specifically asked for one or two things her spouse had liked. Blindfolds, soft red cords for binding, and a variety of oils for both massages and enhancing different sensations. But she does not want to presume that this Uthvir will be interested in the same sorts of things.

Although some part of her is desperately hoping that they are.

To have them take her like they cannot live without it. Sharp teeth at her hip. The slight burn of ropes tied about her wrists. Claws digging just slightly into the meat of her thighs. Thrusting into her hard enough to make the headboard slam back against the wall. So hard she can barely breathe. So hard that everything around her melts into a single bright burst of light, and somewhere beyond it is the sound of their heart beating next to her ear. The distant chatter of Skyhold's courtyard. A sleepy murmuring from the nursery down the hall.

…But that is not what this is for. This time is for them. For the Uthvir she has met and loved in this time. Who is new and bright and soft in all the ways her spouse had never gotten the chance to be.

They touch her cheek and she jerks a little, coming back to the moment at hand with a warm smile.

"If you had said something, I could have brought some of my own supplies," they tell her, but they hardly seem upset about it.

"Next time," she promises, "Although, not too many things, if we are meeting out here. It might seem a little suspicious if you went on a scouting trip with an entire trunk full of sex toys."

They snort in amusement.

"Duly noted."

She nips playfully at their chin.

"Why don't you take a moment to get yourself settled on the mattress however you like," she suggests, continuing a nibbling trail along their jaw up towards their ear, "And I will go fetch a few things from my little side table, and we can see if anything piques your… _interest_."

They nod at her in acquiescence, although she strongly suspects that they would much prefer to simply pull her back to them and have at it. She is sorely tempted herself. But there will be plenty of time for that later.

She'll make certain of it.

Aili slides off the bed and makes a show of shimmying her nightgown down her hips and letting it pool on the floor by her feet. They watch her with hooded eyes for a moment, gaze lingering over the cock now standing at full attention between her legs. She almost worries that they are having second thoughts about the current arrangements between them, but the arousal in the air does not lessen in the slightest and, in fact, Uthvir decides that this is their own cue to divest themselves of the rest of their clothing. Tossing pants and smalls and footwraps unceremoniously off the foot of the bed before scooting back to arrange some on the pillows around themselves.

She laughs, delighted at the sight, and eager to come back to them. The table is not far, however, and she will not be deterred. There is…a lot more in her drawer than she remembers purchasing, but she knows she must have. It is not something she would have trusted to anyone else. Perhaps she had been overthinking all of this and…gone a little overboard. She's not even certain what some of these things are anymore…

In the end, she returns with only a half dozen things, and most of them are little jars of oils. Uthvir arches a brow at her. She smiles ruefully as she lays them out bedside them on the bed.

"I got a little…overwhelmed," she admits, "Perhaps it is best to keep things simple, for now."

"Seems like a sound strategy," they reply, reaching out and settling a hand on her thigh.

"This one makes the skin feel cool and tingling to the touch," she tells them, pointing at the first of four palm-sized containers, "This one is warm. It is pleasurable, but also good for things like tense muscles. But I thought that we should probably just start with this other generic lubricant because I…I do not want to…hurt anything."

"I appreciate that," Uthvir hums, tracing idle patterns on her skin, "What is the last one for?"

"Ah," Aili feels the heat rush to her cheeks, "The proprietor of the shop insisted on that one. It was the most expensive, of course. Apparently, it is…um. _Very_ effective at heightening sensations of pleasure. I thought…that if it turns out that I am absolutely abysmal at making love in this manner, perhaps a touch of this could…uh. Salvage things."

"I am certain that will not be necessary," they reply easily.

"I hope you are right," she breathes out heavily. She gestures to the other object on the bed. "The strap on is for…um. If I fail to hold my shape long enough. Although, we can use it for other things later, if you want, of course! And the ring is…for me. For now."

She holds up the thin silver cock ring inscribed with elegant runes so they can see it.

"Will you help me put it on?"

"Glady," Uthvir smirks, heat sparking in their eyes.

They take up the jar of the simplest of the oils she had brought over to use and pours a modest amount into the palm of their hand. They reach for her, and she gasps at the first touch, hips stuttering forward. They caress her gently, just firm enough to avoid being a tease, as they apply the oil to her arousal.

The ring slips on effortlessly, and Aili finds the presence of mind to lightly tap it with her fingertip to engage the enchantment settled into it. It is not a moment too soon, either. Seeing that she has been successfully 'locked-in' to her erection, Uthvir immediately takes the opportunity to bend forward and take her into their mouth.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Aili thinks that it is probably not especially pleasant to suck at something that has recently been slathered in oil, but if Uthvir has any objections, they do not seem keen on sharing them. She is not particularly well endowed, so they take all of her with ease. One hand firmly pumping at the base of her erection as they switch between laving at her with their tongue and pulling her firmly into the warm slick suction of their lips.

Aili fists one hand in their hair in desperation, using the other to prop herself up as best she can. Uthvir's mouth burns like a brand against her skin. She could not keep quiet even if she wanted to. Pleasure sizzles up her spine with such intensity that, if she was capable of coming, she would have barely lasted a minute. The air surrounding them is so thickly tinged with a hungry kind of arousal, she thinks she might be just a bit drunk with it. She cries out, but she cannot finish, cannot end it, and so it carries on, with Aili moaning in complete abandon and Uthvir kneeling between her thighs like a petitioner seeking favor from their chosen deity. 

She does her best not to thrust into their mouth. It is a struggle. Every instinct in her wants to _move_. To seek more heat and friction and touch in any form they will give it to her. But she wants to hold them, too. Wants to taste them and kiss them and hear the roughness in their voice when they call out in their own ecstasy.

That is the thought that brings her back to herself. Just enough to call out to them. To beg for mercy.

"Vhenan, _please_ -," she rasps.

Uthvir stops at once, glancing up at her with dark molten eyes. It is only then that Aili notices their back. A few marks here and there, which is still on oddity for this world, but nothing like mass of scar tissue that had marred the smooth golden skin of her spouse. She blinks, nearly taken aback.

"Vhenan?" they echo back at her almost shyly.

" _Vhenan_ ," she repeats, cupping their face in her hands and drawing them up to her. She kisses them, deep and hungry. "You must know already. Surely, you must. I am not good at hiding it, although I will admit that I tried. To keep you safe. But you are…you are my heart. And I do love you so."

"I-" Uthivr begins, but she cuts them off with another kiss, pressing them back onto the mattress. She longs for reciprocation, but she suspects that if they tell her that they love her at this moment, she may actually begin to cry. And that would not do much to stir the embers of their passion.

"Only tell me if you want me," she whispers against their mouth. "Let me know if I can have you…if I can touch you… Everything else can wait."

"…Yes," they scrape out hoarsely. They fish around in the sheets as best they can without moving from her, holding up the little jar of oil with an air of triumph once they finally unearth it. Her left arm is currently preoccupied with cradling their neck, even as they lay in a heap of decorative pillows, and so they help her pour a generous dollop of the slippery substance into her right hand.

They dip their own fingertips into the oil before she moves it away, reaching up for her breasts. Massaging them until the soft skin there glistens in the dusky evening light still spilling into her bedroom. She hisses at the sensation. Nipping at their ear in gentle reprimand, even as her oil-slicked hand slips down between their legs.

" _Menace_ ," she accuses, but her voice is quiet, her tone fond. She does not give them the opportunity to respond, sliding her hand over their center and pressing a single finger into them, making them gasp. She steals the breath from their lips with another deep claiming sort of kiss, dipping her tongue into their mouth in time with the motions of her fingers. "How can I focus on pleasing you if you keep distracting me?"

It seems to take them a few moments to collect enough thought to answer her, they seem to only be capable of hitched breaths and the occasional low-pitched moan. Aili is pacing herself, as intended. She cradles them in her arms as she touches them with firm even movements. Waiting until the slickness of the oil and their own arousal has her moving in them effortlessly before venturing a second finger. Rubbing the side of her thumb against that little cluster of nerves as her fingers move in slow concentric circles. Watching their face intently with a tender expression, pupils blown wide with her own wanting.

"Distracting you is-…pleasing," Uthvir finally pants out with a smirk . Aili huffs out a laugh.

"Then you must be pleased every day," she grins at them, kissing the side of their face, trailing towards their ear.

"You think of me so often?" they wonder breathlessly.

Instead of answering, Aili pulls the tip of their ear between her lips, sucking firmly. Meanwhile, her fingers press into them just so, curling slightly, and brushing up against the place within them that had them gasping earlier. They clench around her fingers, back arching as they voice their pleasure. Close, but not done just yet. 

They twist in her arms, pressing their hips upward to meet the motion of her hand. Trying to urge her to speed up her movements. Instead, she carefully slides a third finger into them, but holds her pace steady. She keeps her eyes on them, soothing them with soft kisses and murmured bit of praise, even as her fingers continue slowly stoking them to a towering blaze.

When their end comes a few minutes later, it is with a high keening cry. Afterwards, their face is flushed, eyes unfocused, hair hopelessly askew. Aili sucks a small dark bruise against the side of their neck, humming her approval.

"You are so beautiful."

"You make quite the fair view yourself," Uthvir smiles at her, damp and soft and sated.

She nuzzles further into them, rolling just enough so that she is laying carefully on top of them instead of at their side. Chest pressed to chest. The warm hardness of her cock laying flush against their abdomen. Aili lets out a breath at even that small amount of contact, but she does not move for more.

"Alright?" she checks.

It is Uthvir's turn to answer with action instead of words, shifting their legs farther apart to accommodate her, and lifting their hands to squeeze lightly at her backside.

"Fuck me, Aili," they say.

But she does not. She strokes their hair a little, brushing it back from their face. She touches their cheek. Kisses it. And then the other. And then their nose. Their eyebrow. Their chin.

When her lips finally find their way back to theirs, there is no shortage of desire, but the strongest feeling curling through the air around them is one of aching tenderness.

She takes a hand to guide herself to their entrance, still moving slow. Looking for any signs of discomfort in them as she ever so carefully begins to press into them. Everything feels slippery soft, warm, relaxed, and without resistance, but she would rather err on the side of caution.

About two thirds of the way in, Uthvir makes a sound in the back of their throat. Worried, Aili begins to pull away. Uthvir renews their grip on her backside before she can manage it, however, tugging her hips forward and forcing her to sheath herself in them completely.

Uthvir curses, wrapping their legs around her just in case she had any funny ideas about extracting herself, and Aili nearly falls into them bonelessly. Overwhelmed with the sensation of the velvety heat of them around her. Muscles gripping, as though trying to pull her in even farther. Every inch of them silently begging her to _move._

"Oh _Creators_ ," Aili breathes out against their neck.

She thinks that wearing the cock ring was definitely the right call.

Uthvir shifts their hips under her, hinting none to subtly as to where their own desires lay. Arms still shaking slightly, she props herself up on her elbows and does her best to oblige them. She tries to keep a similar pace to the one she had before when she was touching them with just her hand. Her thrusts are light and shallow, almost teasing.

Uthvir grips her ass again, sharp nails just beginning to bite into the soft flesh there. They let out an almost pitiable moan. Aili moves to kiss them again, but they catch her bottom lip between their teeth, nipping at her in reprimand.

"You are going to drive me mad at this rate," they tell her in a rough whisper.

Aili's brow furrows. She pauses. Uthvir throws their head back in apparent defeat.

"Does it hurt?" she asks, clearly worried.

"No," Uthvir rasps.

"Is it…bad?" Aili wonders uncertainly. This is the first time she has ever attempted to have sex while using a penis. While it will guarantee that their first time together is unique, it also means that she is dealing with several unknown variables. It was a gamble, but she had presumed that the odds where in her favor.

"Not bad," Uthvir assures her, prompting her to begin moving again. Still unbearably slow. "But…may I…try something?"

"Of course," Aili replies easily.

Uthvir grabs her face and kisses her, sharp and hungry and desperate. Pushing her up and back until she is laying beneath them instead. They adjust themselves to the new position, taking her in hand and sinking back down onto her with a sigh. When they begin to move above her, the pace they set is not especially fast, as though trying to respect her own preferences, but their motions are firm and determined. Rolling against her and pulling her in deep every time.

Aili feels almost dizzy.

She shifts her hips to meet them, gripping their thighs and trying to match the force of their movements. She finally seems to strike a particular angle that makes them gasp and shudder, and she does her best to hit it as often as she can. It is a task that becomes increasingly more difficult as time goes on, and her head is swimming with incomplete arousal.

But this is for them. She has to keep reminding herself. Her skin feels like it is on fire, and there is some deep primal part of her that wants to simply descend into frenzied 'got to have you now' fucking, but their expression is rapturous, and every time they slide back down on her, she swears she can see stars.

If this is torture, it is absolutely the best kind.

It feels like ages before Uthvir finally comes again. Their head thrown back in a silent gasp this time. Both hands on her breasts as they ride out the cresting wave of their pleasure.

They nearly tumble off of her afterwards, and she gathers them in her arms again. Holding them close. Trying not to think about the burning heat between her legs.

Uthvir's chest is heaving like a bellows, but they reach down and carefully press a touch of magic to the thin silver ring at the base of Aili's still-erect penis. Even that light brush of their finger is nearly enough to send her over the edge right there. She breathes in sharply through her nose.

"I was going to use my mouth," Uthvir says apologetically, sounding tired, "But it might have to wait for another time, I am afraid. Will my hand suffice?"

"I think you could finish me just by looking at it hard enough at this point," Aili tells them hoarsely. Uthvir laughs, a spark of mischief igniting in their eyes.

"An intriguing proposition," they smirk, "But one for another day, I think."

They take hold of her and, as anticipated, she comes after only a few quick motions of their hand. It crashes into her like a sledgehammer, knocking the wind from her lungs as she calls out for them in a splintered voice. They continue stroking her a little while afterwards, sending little shockwaves of pleasure rippling up her spine.

Uthvir only pulls the hand away when she finally shifts her shape back to her usual one, and even then, they only shift it so they are returning her embrace instead. They look at her for a moment. Soft and sated and muzzy with the onset of sleep.

They kiss her again, gentle and deep and almost longing. Almost afraid.

"I love you, too," they tell her in the barest of whispers. They tremble just slightly. As though the enormity of it is almost too much to bear. As though someone else might have heard them and come to punish them for it.

"Ma vhenan," she sighs in contentment, tears standing in the corners of her eyes and she pulls them back to her.

They kiss each other languidly beneath her blankets and the starlight pouring in through her windows. Hands drifting in soothing caress. There are murmurings of trying for a second round of tired sloppy sex, but it does not get very far. It is enough to be near each other. To be holding and touching and together at long last.

Uthvir nods off first, and Aili cannot help but watch their sleeping face for a while. She takes stock of all the ways they look like her spouse. And all of the ways they do not. Both hurt. Loving them will hurt, no matter what path she chooses to follow. She knew this from the moment she entered this world. From the moment she had lifted their limp body in her arms after Glory had shattered.

It will hurt, but if they love her, too… If being with her is their choice, she will accept it. If they think she can make them happy, then she will do her best to live up to that expectation. And this time…

This time she will keep them safe.

She reaches up to touch their face one last time. Lightly. Reverently. And then she slips her arm around their shoulders and follows them into the Dreaming. 


End file.
